The Witch Princess of Chaos
by D'nnome
Summary: Despite almost dying, Malekith the Witch King, still set out to learn the secrets of the Chaos realms. His efforts are awarded to travel of another world ripe for conquest and where he found a child carrying divine blood of the gods. Born in light the child may be, but Malekith saw greater potential turning it to darkness. Evil, Druchii Ruby. Chaos and Dark magic user Ruby. AU.
1. Light Turned to Darkness

**Disclaimer: The following is a fan-based parody. I do not own any of this. Please support the official release.**

**Chapter 1: Light Turned to Darkness**

Patch. A nice island perfect for settling down for a family. It has that kind of world renown around the whole world of Remnant as being one of the most peaceful places on Remnant. And what is Remnant you may ask. To put it bluntly, it is a world consisting of four continents with only four kingdoms of civilization. Yes, it is indeed such a small population of intelligent life that consisted of humans and semi-animal beings called Faunus. This is a result of the hordes of Grimm that feast on civilization and wish to see it destroyed. The only thing that kept civilization alive were the legions of Huntsmen and Huntresses trained to ward them off.

But Remnant wasn't always like this, and in fact the name of the world is derived to an age long gone by. Many eons ago, it was once a world of vibrant society and magic. Humanity's influence stretched all across the globe all thanks to their worship to the gods of light and darkness, the creators of their world. They were the ones to give them the gift of magic. However, that age came to an end when they considered man to be a mistake. First, they took away the humans' capability for magic and the God of Darkness committed genocide of the entire population.

Yet, skip over a century or so and civilization was beginning anew with the inclusion of the Faunus race. Give or take an eon or two later, and the world of Remnant turned into what it is now, and their only saving grace being the magical mineral known as Dust. Yet, despite the leaps and bounds of technological advancement that these four kingdoms have made, it paled in comparison to the Age of the Gods. While humans may never be able to grasp the power of magic again, the gods still left it blowing through the skies of the world just waiting to be channeled.

Remnant's gods are not the only ones out there in reality of all things, and far from it. There are more worlds out there, all in the image of how the gods that created them wanted them to be. Gods no different than those from Remnant, yet war with each other with armies of their worshippers. They all live in one world however. A world where the power of magic itself creates storms in the sky that when channeled give even a mortal power to eliminate entire armies. A world not of bloody evolution, but of bloody and eternal war.

Back on the island of Patch, the winds of magic that blew briskly in Remnant suddenly turned into a gust as something called to them and they answered with their power. In a forest, lines of archaic magic craft etched into the grass, glowing in a mix of red and purple. Space tore itself apart into the a different dimension all together that completely defied the laws of mortal perception. Cries of otherworldly beasts came from the tear, making even Grimm upon the island shutter in fear at the feeling of wrongness that swept over the land. If one were to peer into the veil, their minds would be broken beyond repair when just glancing at the dimension of the Chaos Gods. No mortal man or other sentient race should be able to survive.

The one who came out was an exception to that. He was of tall stature possibly at 6'5" or more. From head to toe the man was covered in black armor that mended to his flesh like a new skin, and he had a golden face mask with green eyes that burned with wrath. Upon his head was a circlet of golden horns that brimmed with magic that attracted the winds of Remnant. A jagged curved sword was sheathed at his hip, and on his back was a shield almost as tall as him.

This was a being that shook even the realm of gods of his world. He was the son of the greatest hero of the elves, an immortal race of the Asur/Druchii/Asrai pantheon. Malekith the Witch King, tyrant to the Asur and supreme ruler of the Druchii. With sword talent gifted from his father, arcane arts studied with his mother, there is no equal to this legendary warrior that has lived through thousands upon thousands of years.

The Witch King let out an indignant grunt of pain has he collapsed onto one knee. Chaotic red lightning crackled off his currently smoking body while arcane runes etched onto his armor previously protected him from most of the damage. Travelling through the space of chaos was not Malekith's first time, and it was horrid and painful experience for the ancient lord. But Malekith endured as he always will, for nothing can compete with the Asuryan Flames that burned him. In that time surviving that tainted realm, he discovered many things that no eternity of archaic study and enlightenment shall ever wield. Some included a grasp on the concept of the Wind of Magic of Chaos, the use of his own magic as a shielding against the corruption, but the most alluring aspect of his time in the realm of Chaos was that it served as a nexus of sorts (or was it more of a rift) to other worlds.

More worlds to Malekith meant greater conquest. So what if he can't have Ulthuan that was his birthright when he can have a world or even worlds under his rule? Upon his admittedly painful return to his own world, a new ambition was born within the Witch King. It took quite some time, give or take a few decades, along with his mother to establish a proper and safer way to travel through the realm of Chaos. With the discovery of one's own magic as a protection, it came to the conclusion to use runes powered by a month's worth of siphoned Winds of Magic, which littered all across his armored body. They were enough for two trips, and Morathi had also given her son a magical anchor of sorts to lock in that world that he deemed fit for conquest. So when armies of Druchii marched it would be through an instant instead of a horrid survival in the Chaos realm. In simple terms for a man, a portal.

After a minute of the pain, Malekith gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand. The burning pain was lingering, but a slight adjustment with the runes would fix that on his return. Besides, he endured far greater pain than this, and it was even more so than his first 'stroll' through Chaos. Malekith released a breath akin to the low howl of the chillwinds of the north. He momentarily stilled when he felt a familiar sensation course through his body. As a test, Malekith raised his left arm to his face and an orb of dark magic formed in his hands.

_'How curious.' _Thought the Witch King. _'It appears wherever I am, there are Winds of Magic here. However, these winds are a breeze compared to a compared to a blizzard. If there are gods here, why do they have so little influence on this world?'_

Malekith dispelled the ball of darkness and made use of his sensory skills. One would relate it to sniffing the air, except the air in this case would be the Wind of Magic. It helped Malekith in his battles to identify mages who were siphoning the power and even identify what Lore they used. Sensing those who don't use magic may as well be blind to Malekith. So imagine his surprise when he was hit with the scent of magic so potent that it felt like something punched it into his senses.

There was only one thing in all creation that can have such potent magic, no matter how small. There was divine blood of gods very close by. Malekith did not recognize the divinity, but it was far from the murderous presence of Khaine. But any sort of divinity was highly sought after since it is the gods themselves the blow the Winds of Magic. Whatever it is, it was enough for the Witch King to investigate.

After burning down the anchoring insignia Morathi developed, Malekith made his way through the unknown land all the while taking in the scenery around him. The forest was about average, but even he would admit that it has been a long time since he had seen proper green forests instead of the cold tundra of Naggarond. How long has it been really to breath in air that wasn't laced with freezing temperatures? It these simple pleasures that reminded the small part of him that was still the honorable son of Aenarion of his homesickness of Ulthuan's land. He ruthlessly forced that down before he would come to regret it.

Malekith soon came upon a house in the middle of an open field. The night sky highlighted the light of the windows coming from inside. There in that home he felt the presence of the divine blood, specifically two in this case. Shadows hid away his armored body from prying eyes, leaving his own glowing orbs that spied on the occupants. Through the windows, Malekith saw a petite woman with silver eyes wearing a white hood playing with a blonde child. The woman herself was the source of the divine power, but on closer inspection he could sense it was dormant.

_'A woman.' _Malekith mused in thought. _'Quite troublesome if I wanted to recruit her. Not only do humans live so little, they can be surprisingly resilient. But that's only one.'_

The woman disappeared for a moment and came back with a red bundle in her arms, the source of the second of the divine blood. A small hand reached out from the cloth, revealing it was a baby. It was quite a normal, yet warming sight of a mother caring for her child with eyes glinting in love. Yet again, it sparked something deep in Malekith reminding him vividly of days of old when he was but a boy talking with his father. The good days indeed, but they were behind them and the devious machinations of the Witch King soon took over as he locked on the frail little bundle.

_'A newborn with the blood of the divine.' _Malekith thought. _'That will do nicely instead of the adult. It may be human, but in the least I will have a worthy test subject for Mother's latest experiment to possibly fix that. Though it may be of light, I will drench and make it grow in the darkness.'_

His mind made, Malekith walked out of the cover of the forest in the open and the humans were completely ignorant of his approach. The wood of the porch creaked in protest once his metal feet stomped towards the door. Malekith yet again channeled the Winds of Magic into his hands and then he thrusted his palm forward. Not only was the door blasted into splinters, but the dark magic used also snuffed the lights out as well. The cries of the baby gave away its location, as well as the exclaims from the occupants.

"Mom, what's happening?"

"Stay right here." Spoke the woman. "Take care of your sister."

So the woman plans to fight. How intriguing. Malekith entered into the hall of the home, and on the other side there stood the woman holding a sword in her right arm and what seemed to be a firearm those of the Empire of Man use. Those silver orbs hardened like steel, ready to kill whatever intruder that threatened her home. Too bad that it was Malekith.

"Who are you?!" Demanded the woman. "Are you with Salem?!"

"I have no idea of this 'Salem' you speak of." Malekith spoke, choosing to humor the woman. "And I won't give you my name for you won't live to tell anybody about it."

Malekith withdrew his sword, **The Destroyer, **a blade he forged himself. No amount of magic can withstand being cut by this blade, and it has soaked in the blood of may princes of the Asur in many battles. This woman was hardly worthy enough of the blade, but he wanted this done quickly. But as he took a step forward, the woman fired the gun with a loud bang. The Witch King's trained eyes can track the bullet that was shot, which was quite strange. Instead of being lead like the Empire of Man used, it was strangely solidified magic. It struck his shoulder with enough force to stagger him back, but there was no dent in the armor.

"Curious." Muttered Malekith.

He continued his stride towards the woman, deflecting the bullets the woman was firing at him. Seeing it useless, the woman resorted to the sword and charged the Witch King with impressive speed. However, Malekith easily blocked the opening swing and parried with his strength to make the woman falter. Surprisingly, she righted herself and flowed in the motion for a counterattack with a quick sweep for his side. Malekith easily maneuvered the blade in the right defensive stance, and cracks appeared on the opposing blade. He started to casually walk towards the signature of the baby that the woman was hiding, all the while thwarting whatever attacks she sent at him.

"Where is the child?!" Malekith demanded, parrying a thrust and punishing with his fist punching her jaw.

Spitting blood, the woman glared at the Witch King. "I won't let you get to her."

"Be it that way, fly." Malekith said.

Using an empty hand, Malekith grabbed the blade to anchor her in place of his reach and followed with an upward slash that cut deep into the woman from hip to shoulder. The woman let out an agonized shout as Malekith let her fall to the ground in her own pool of blood, and he made his way toward the source of the divine blood. Malekith tracked it down to a kitchen of sorts, and his green eyes pierced the shadows where he saw a little blonde girl in a corner holding the red bundle as close to her body.

"Give me the infant." Malekith's cold voice pierced through the room.

The blonde shivered in fright yet she held the baby closer to her. She had to protect from this monster. Her fears intensified as Malekith snarled in frustration. His boot snapped to the blonde's face with a crack. Blood dripped down the blonde's face, and several deep gashes littered her forehead and top left cheek. The baby in response started to wail. Malekith internally rolled his eyes in exasperation as even he knew that there was no way to calm down an infant of all things. It is actually a wonder Druchii parents do not kill their offspring from all the crying, much less being proper fucking parents.

Malekith leaned down and picked the infant up in one arm. From one small opening of the red bundle, a squishy face of a baby girl whimpered as silver eyes looked back at glowing green orbs. The infant must be only three months old as they were just tresses of black hair that looked to be tipped in blood. The Witch King mused that the Priestesses of Khain would rather like the girl's hair like that.

His potential prize found, Malekith made his way out of the house not even minding that he ruined a family. He made it eight paces passed the porch before the sound of rushing feet grabbed his attention. Malekith was surprised to find the woman from before racing towards him, her eyes filled with so much rage they were blinding with light.

Wait, light!?

"GIVE ME BACK MY BABY!"

Malekith was about to force off the woman yet again until her eyes produced a white light so brilliant that it encased the entire field. And that was when he felt it. Pain, but not some ordinary pain. Burning pain of the likes that he hasn't felt ever since the Asuryan Flames charred his flesh. There was so much pain that he did not even hear his own cry of agony.

He wanted this to stop. The pain has to stop. Stop the pain. Stop the pain. Stop the flames! Stop it! STOP IT!

"GRRAAGH!" Malekith swung his sword wildly in an attempt to somehow away with the white light that was burning his very soul. He felt his blade knock away something, but he continued on with all his might and thrusted his blade forward. The sound of steel sinking through flesh and bone followed by the light dying away. Green eyes crying blood looked to see **The Destroyer **impaled through the woman's heart. The woman somehow endured and her currently dim silver eyes looked to the bundle of joy and her arms stretched out in desperation to hold the infant.

"Ruby... my baby..." The woman murmured before she went limp on the blade.

Malekith kicked off the infant's mother from his blade and returned it to his hip. He glanced down to the bundle in his one arm, where the baby was for the first time widened her silver eyes in fear. She did not know what was happening, and yet she knew that her whole world was shattered apart.

"And consider this new world behind you." Malekith muttered as he walked into the cover of the forest towards the entrance back to his home.

If he had stayed moments longer in that field, Malekith would have come to met two men, a blonde with blue eyes and a black-haired one with red eyes. Instead, they were treated with the horrific sight of Summer Rose dead on the ground in a pool of her own blood, and the fact her own daughter was taken away.

* * *

(Naggarond)

Naggarond, the capital of the Druchii made from the once floating city that Malekith led his people to their icy shores away from Ulthuan. Towers of black lit with purple flames on top riddled the city of sins. But contrary to outsiders' belief, Naggarond was not infested with murder and treachery. That was Har Ganeth actually. The capital of Naggarond was in essence peaceful for it was a place where the highest-class of nobles of the Druchii lived with their own slaves for all their needs. Life for Druchii was so relaxed and pleasurable there was no need to shed blood, at least not as much as people believed. Most can be contributed to the fact that Naggarond was the very source of Malekith's rule, and such he deemed his capital was home only to the best of the best. No use in his own elite killing themselves when they have human, Asur, dwarves, and lizardmen to do that anyway.

In the central citadel that served as Malekith's home, there was a woman who stood in wait before a flat stone on the black marble floor carved with arcane runes for access into the realms of Chaos. She was exquisite beauty, roughly in her mid twenties, with hair braided down her back. Her pale-skinned body was exposed for all to see, and her digits were blackened as though stained in coal. In her hands was a black halberd that served as her magical staff. She is Morathi, once the second wife of Aenarion, now mother of Malekith and founder of the Lore of Dark Magic and considered one of the most powerful mages in the world.

A bored expression was on her pretty face as she waited for her son's return. No sooner than she thought of that did space tear itself apart in the hellish dimension that was Chaos. A shadow quickly walked through the portal revealing the Witch King himself, this time not a mangled mess like last time. He wasn't even smoking from the Hellfire that he was exposed, evidence that her arcane runes were indeed working. Though her thoughts screeched to a halt at the familiar sound an infant's babble and a red bundle in Malekith's left arm.

"Malekith," Morathi spoke, "why... do you have a baby?"

She was not mad. Just confused is all. But as she stretched out her senses, she nearly faulted at the signature of divine blood.

"Someone with potential." Malekith answered. "But more so a test subject for your new experiment."

Morathi grinned at the deviousness of her son. The experiment that he referred to was a new blood ritual. It was mainly for humans that have shown a special quality for even as short their lives are they have proven time and time again of their versatility. Such talent can not be wasted, so it came to Morathi to instead turn them into Druchii. Of course, the process was very much dangerous, and none of her slaves ever survived before being turned into pools of blood. She had the ritual finalized for one last experiment, and it just so happened that Malekith brought an infant of all things.

"Tis fortunate that I bring my work with me." Morathi said, approaching closer to examine the infant, and to find a whimpering babe with teary silver eyes. "What makes this one so special despite the divine blood?"

"The mother tried to stop me." Malekith explained. "Her eyes became a blinding beacon of light. It pained me. Pained me the same way the Flames of Asuryan did me."

Morathi blinked in surprise. "That type of power to compare to that has to be very potent divinity. Wouldn't that be counterproductive?"

"Not if that light turns to darkness." Malekith quipped.

Morathi hummed in agreement and escorted her son out of the chamber to another part of the citadel. Mostly, the huge, dark palace of the Witch King was mostly vacant with a few guards of Naggarond that were utterly loyal to the Witch King. They came to a grand hall where a chandelier of dark crystals tipped with white flames hanged on ceiling. Up a flight of stairs upon a large chariot led to a platform where stood Morathi's personal Cauldron of Blood. Malekith took a moment to admire the statue of his patron god, Khaine the lord of murder and war, with the eyes glowing an ominous purple. Right at his feet was the Cauldron big enough to stuff gallons of blood of sacrificial slaves. But two details caught Malekith off. The blood, which was assuredly blood by the smell of it, was a pitch black, and facing Khaine was an insignia of Chaos.

Malekith did not know how to feel about this use of Chaos. On one side, he still had strong animosity against the bringers of the Endtimes as his father passed on to him. On the other hand, this wasn't the first time they dealt with the forces of Chaos as such, but never in this way to include it in a ritual of Khaine.

"Don't be so troubled, Malekith." Morathi said as though reading her son's thoughts. "Dark magic alone won't give us the results we desire. To turn a soul and body into a completely different existence requires breaking the natural order of the gods themselves. Chaos magic will do the change while dark magic will keep it in control."

"How many times have you used this process?" Malekith inquired.

"Too many." Morathi said. "My slaves came out in such hideous monstrosities to make a Skaven quiver. Later experiments ended with them in a pile of flesh and eyes. By far, this is perfected, but there is still a chance this won't work."

"So be it then." Malekith said. "Khaine himself will see this one's worth."

"Then let us begin." Morathi announced, holding out her hand. "For this to start, I need your blood for this."

Malekith raised a brow behind his face plate. "My blood?"

"You are Khaine's champion, my son." Morathi explained. "If the god of murder is to see this child's worth, then you must pay tribute to call him here. I would have done it if my blood wasn't already indebted to daemons."

Malekith gave a grunt and held out his right arm. A whisper of the archaic language from Morathi shifted the metal of his hand back, revealing raw muscle instead of skin. She drew a knife that carved on the muscle to draw a steady stream of blood, but the Witch King did not falter in the pain. As the blood of Malekith entered the cauldron, the pitch black gained a dark purple glow to it, and the eyes of the statue seemed fixated with a new presence.

Morathi smiled. "Well then? Throw her in the cauldron."

Malekith had no intention to hesitate, but yet a small part of him screamed to ensure the child's safety in whatever will happen. It was only a half-second of hesitance before the Witch King let the bundle sink into the blood. There was not even a wail before the blood consumed the infant. That small part again that cried for the infant's safety prayed for her well-being to make it out.

Morathi did not waste a step and channeled her vast control of magic outward. The iron walls of the palace creaked and shook under the pressure of the magic that she was summoning while at the same time she vocally chanted to Khaine. Her right hand snapped out to the Chaos insignia, and it ignited in hellfire. Red magic zapped into the black pool like red lightning, giving the black blood a swirling mix of purple and red that was draining to the center.

Dark and Chaos magic clashed and danced simultaneously. There was no order, only senseless chaos of the energies lashing out wildly. Malekith and Morathi felt a pressure push on their shoulders that forced them to submit. Their eyes went to the statue of Khaine glowing purple and the eyes seemed to have gained a yellow fire to them staring into the cauldron. But facing Khaine himself, the Chaos magic condensed around the insignia until it created a construct of a black helm with blood red eyes filled with bloodlust staring into the cauldron as well.

* * *

(Unknown)

The ancient Eldar that was the god of murder would have been annoyed for being summoned for some mundane reason when there is no bloodshed. Instead, curiosity took him as he looked to the child that was under his gaze. To him, the infant was in a void, her soul a flickering flame of white so holy it disgusted Khaine, but it intrigued him that this was light of divine origin that he did not know. Even as obscure as the Chaos gods himself, and his champion wished this infant to be of Druchii to serve him.

If that is what Malekith wishes, Khaine may as well play along. The future was always obscure even to gods. The more Khaine thought on it, the more it filled him with glee to turn such an innocent new babe into a dark soul bent on murder and slaughter. The divine blood itself may be out of his reach, but the soul however was not. Turn it black enough like the Druchii Malekith wanted the infant to become and the power shall follow.

As his hand reached out to the whimpering infant drowning in the black blood that surrounded her, another presence made itself known. Blood red eyes filled with bloodlust that rivaled Khaine himself appeared on the infant's other side. Khaine's murderous eyes of yellow glared at the bloodlusting eyes of Khorne. Gods of war sneered at each other as they both had an interest in the child.

Yet as gods of war they also came to some sort of agreement. What they came up with filled the gods with such sadistic glee their grin would have shown their demonic teeth. Yes, this child will definitely be interesting to them to watch in the future. A holder of unknown divine blood attracting the world's worst gods that no person should never meet in their sanity, and with such an innocent soul of light it was irresistible to corrupt. For where there is light, there will always be darkness.

For the first time in history, Eldar and Chaos gave their blessings to one being. Purple and black energy surrounded the baby in a cocoon, muffling her cries. The soul that they saw no longer burned with the white light that irked them. Khaine's influence gave the center of the soul turned a purple visage that was almost black with a grey center while Khorne's blessing surrounded it in a ring of crimson. Such petty things as humanity were casted off as the magics of the cauldron took its hold upon the infant to mold her into something greater.

They will have to look at this one very carefully. Even as their work has been done, the ultimate change of the soul will fall to the owner herself. There may be a chance where light may takeover, but the work has been done nonetheless to push her in the right direction. As Khaine and Khorne left, they were filled with gleeful satisfaction when the baby's cries turned into giggles.

* * *

(Back with Malekith)

Malekith and Morathi were struggling to stand as the citadel of Naggarond was shaking from the extreme magics produced by the presence of two gods fueling the ritual. Purple and red lightning lashed out at all of the walls, bringing down iron walls, and cracking the floor. Finally, all the magic focused within the cauldron before imploding in a massive release of energy that blew Morathi and Malekith back, the former anchoring himself down with his blade. Steam and smoke rose from the now empty cauldron since all the blood was dried up from the process. There was too much magic and smoke to see what lay in the cauldron, and Malekith felt something sink in his chest.

_'Did she not survive?' _Malekith thought, or rather the son of Aenarion instead of the Witch King.

The cry of the infant however casted away those thoughts and Malekith stepped forward to look into the cauldron. The smoke cleared to reveal the infant now in a black bundle currently wiggling around, and her head fully revealed. Malekith reached down to pick the infant and hold her in his left arm to take a closer examination. The skin of the infant was now an almost deathly pale shade and her ears were pointed exactly like a Druchii. Her hair took on a darker shade while the red tips were much more defined. The most astonishing feature were the eyes that no longer held that gleaming silver to them. Instead, they were heterochromic with the left eye being red like blood with a slit pupil and the right with an iris of dark purple surrounding a pitch black pupil.

When those strange eyes met Malekith, he was met not with the look of fear but one of... adoration or joy he assumed. A small smile made its way on the infant's face and small hands reached out to try and touch his face. Malekith let out an exasperated grunt at this turn of events, which in turn made the infant start to giggle. How does an infant giggle in the presence of the Witch King?

"I am amazed it worked." Noted Morathi as she approached the child with a smile on her face at her latest work. "She is absolutely perfect. Full Druchii, and not a speck of pathetic human upon her. And now we have a new responsibility."

"What?" Malekith inquired with a dangerous edge.

The shit-eating grin that he received did not do him any favors. He now just realized that his mother had somehow tricked yet again into some absurdity. It added to the fact that Morathi was currently playing with the infant with her finger, the baby laughing at the ministrations.

"I may have left a small detail about the ritual." Morathi said, and every word threatened to pop Malekith's vein. "The blood that you offered not only called forth Khaine, but also in a sense that she's not only a Druchii but technically your new daughter."

"..." The silence was palpable if it weren't for the infant's giggles. "It is times like this... that I regret ever leaving you alive."

"You were the one to ask for this." Morathi retorted smugly. "We both know that Khaine chose the little one for a reason, and I can see great things for her in the future. And I wouldn't mind being a grandmother to this little one."

Malekith chose to direct a venomous glare to the infant in his arms, but that only made her giggle more. Behind his face plate, his brows were twitching erratically in annoyance. But he had to admit himself that whatever that Khaine saw in this infant was worth raising her for the coming future. And upon his title as the Witch King, Malekith will make sure the child becomes a force to be reckon with.

"I see you are in agreement." Morathi said. "Now we just need a name for our new addition to the family."

Malekith stared at the child intently as one came to his head. "She will be named..."

* * *

**Huge fucking cliffhanger because I am welcoming suggestions for names, specifically any that sound like she is going to murder you while laughing the entire time. This new fanfic was really on my mind ever since I started playing Total War: Warhammer II and it really hooked me into the franchise. And from that game, the Druchii are my favorite faction to play, and Malekith is my favorite lord both as a unit and a character. I really hope this first chapter lives up to the hype, but don't expect as many updates as you would think. **

**A moment of warning for this story is Rated M on some very heavy sexual and dark themes, gore, and torture as is with the Druchii with also major character deaths from both the Warhammer and the RWBY verse. Remember that Ruby is a chaotic villain, and she is going to fuck shit up. (Because I am a sadistic asshole.) Such is the legend of the Witch Princess of Chaos.**

**Ruby will has a yuri harem of Druchii followers with a single male pairing.**

**Up next is Chapter 2: Daddy's Murder Girl**

**Stay in touch. Please, _please _leave a review.**


	2. Daddy's Murder Girl

**Disclaimer: This is a fan-based parody. I do not own any of this. Please support the official release.**

**Chapter 2: Daddy's Murder Girl**

(8 Years Later)

Two soldiers of the Bleakswords were running through the frosted forest near Naggarond in a frantic haze. Moments ago, they were just out drinking together while openly fantasizing what they would do with one of the local priestesses of Khaine if they had their way with them along with some boasts of their 'masculinity' to dominate them. Then out of nowhere, some little shit decided to run into them and not only grab their money but also dig a deep cut in their thighs. That did not stop them from giving chase after the child, seemingly a girl, to make her pay in more ways than one.

Fueled by their rage, they chased the child from the outskirts through the field. The child in question was slippery one. Where the pair of fully-grown Druchii struggled trudging through the knee-deep snow, the girl seemed to glide over the white expanse like a twister. When they reached the forest, she all but disappeared climbing up a tree like some creature.

Their rage-filled chase became what kids would see it as a nightmare. Rage turned into a growing nervousness as they continued on into the forest of dead, pale trees that stood four stories tall. They felt the stare of eyes upon them like they were some playthings, and the laugh of the girl somehow echoed through the forest like some sort of phantom. Then came the rustle of something jumping from branch-to-branch and with the sound of claws digging into wood. They now felt they were the ones being hunted for something was definitely hunting them as more stares bore down on them like a pack closing in.

That nervousness turned into a fear as the girl's laughs continued, seemingly enjoying their fear. Once one of them thought they spotted the girl standing a bit away. The one to run up and strike at the girl's head swore it was culprit only for his blade to have beheaded a decayed skull... of a fellow Bleaksword who had a multitude of old nails through his head and the dead person in question to have died by choking by a root of a tree that grew out of his rib cage.

And finally, the girl herself spoke for the first time, her voice dripping with amusement and murderous mirth. "Yeah, that guy died too soon. Phooey~, he made such lovely~ screams for mercy~. He begged so~ much~ to let him go when forced to have that root grow down his throat. A slow~ and~ painful choke by nature."

It was enough to bring the scene of what it is now of the two soldiers of the Druchii running through the forest in fright. Their breathing was haggard that revealed their growing fear. One of them speculated that this forest was haunted and they fell for that spirit's trap. They ignored the screams of pain of their legs as they rushed through the deep snow to find some sort of escape from this nightmare. Then one of the Bleakswords yelped when his foot caught on something in the snow and he swore that something was dragging him down. He whipped his sword out slashing frantically at whatever creature was trying to drag him down like a predator. Imagine his horror when he dislodged his leg from the snow to find a severed hand blue with frostbite.

"Ooh~, that was one my first ones~." Giggled the voice of the girl across the whole forest. "Put a knife in his spine and he sobbed so~ much~ when a blizzard came in to bury him. I liked his death so~ much..."

The voice of the girl paused for a moment, and the soldiers looked ahead of their path only to become as pale as the Witch Elves. The field before them was littered with buried corpses of other Druchii of their same regiment. Frosted blue hands were risen from the snowy ground from the Druchii desperately wanting freedom. There were even the fear stricken heads of the elves, their screams frozen in time.

"... that I just had to do it over and over again~." The girl giggled. "Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha."

"We need to get the fuck out of here."

"No, we need to kill this little shit. S-She's probably playing tricks with us."

"What makes you think she's not a spirit of some kind sent here to torture us?"

"I will not believe such wretched lies to scare a child. Stop hiding and come out, you coward!"

"Aw~, but I'm having so much fun watching you all quiver in fear like little ratmen." Giggled the girl, the eyes of the Bleakswords darting in all directions to find her. "But if you want, then~... Over here~!"

The more defined voice of the girl dragged the attention of the duo of Druchii to the side. There they saw the girl tall enough to reach their waists, her back turned to them while a black cloak shrouded any notable detail. All they saw was the glint of teeth of her grin, pointed ears of a Druchii, and a pale hand poking out motioning for the duo to chase her.

The Bleakswords gave a cry of wrath that blinded them and yet again extinguished the growing fear through them as they gave chase. It was a repeat of last time as the girl managed to keep ahead of them seemingly gliding over the snow with ease while the duo struggled to run through the white expanse. All in the meantime her endless laughter of amusement further fueled their anger.

"I will get my hands on you, little bitch!" Threatened one of the Druchii frothing at the mouth. "When I do, I am going to cut off your ears and force them down your throat."

"Ooh~, what a great idea." Mocked the girl with a new fit of laughter.

The girl's pale hand reached through the snow for a moment A glint of steel shined from her hand, and unknown to the chasing Druchii it was a small whip attached to a long string of dark steel, as is the traditional metal work of Druchii. She pulled on it with enough force that it raised a barbed wire trap from the snow. The pair of Druchii were too late to see it until their legs caught onto it. Not only did they trip, the barbed steel snapped and wrapped around their legs. The pair screamed in agony as the barbed string sank into the flesh of their legs like the teeth of a Cold One when it coiled around them. It was only because of their endurance as Druchii did they manage to fight through the pain and sever the wire, albeit leaving their legs exposed to the bit of Nagarythe's cold and bleeding the snow in dark red. Any longer and it would have reached the bone.

"That fucking hurt, you little shit!" Cursed one of the swordsman. "I will have you beaten in a meatpile and throw you to the Cold Ones to naw at your bones. Or maybe I'll just keep you as my personal pet."

His next words stopped dead at the scene that he was greeted with. Other voices of menacing giggles reached their ears as more figures came out of the woodwork. Surrounding the Druchii pair were women of literal deadly beauty with skin of pale ash with some hair colors of white or black. They did not have much clothing on them, just enough to cover their modesty in armored bras of purple metal of and purple loincloths. Their eyes were lined with black face paint and over their bodies were unique red, black, and purple tattoo markings that looked sharp and somewhat demonic. At their hands and hip were wicked looking daggers designed to draw the most blood and carve through flesh like butter. For some, they brandished dreaded whips meant to slash through skin in a single crack of it. All of them sported grins hungry to inflict torture and untold cruelty that radiated from their eyes. The lick of lips may seem sexual to make a man succumb to their whims, but it also spoke of their thirst to for blood.

There were so many of them, possibly three dozen that surrounded the pair of Druchii. Some revealed themselves from their hiding place behind trees and rocks and other dropped halfway down from the tops of the trees were they were spying on them. The Bleakswords gulped in fear for they knew these women as the Witch Elves the most deadly warriors of the Druchii that have devoted their lives in slaughter for Khaine. Just one of them would easily annihilate a whole unit of themselves laughing as she would.

"W-Witch Elves?!" Exclaimed one of the male Druchii. "What are th-the priestesses of Khaine doing here?"

"What's with all the respect and fear all of a sudden?!" Spoke the leader of the Witch Elves, indicated by the crest that sat on her head in her snow white hair. "I believe that you two called us a bunch of pale whores?"

The leader smiled at the shocked expressions of the men. "Tsk tsk tsk. You should really keep such thoughts in your head. You can thank our little one for telling us like a wonderful girl she is."

"Why thank, Priestess Ghirah." Chirped the girl. It would have been such a cute scene if it lacked the fact that they were a cult of murders, which the girl was no different.

"Why I-" Outraged one of the Bleakswords, but when he took a step forward Ghirah nonchalantly cracked her whip and slashed through the armor of his torso, leaving a bleeding cut. He staggered back to his position next to his companion with a cry of pain.

"My, my." Ghirah said, marveling the length of her dark whip that showed barbed points. "Thank you, little one for such an amazing design on the whip."

"If it bleeds more, it works." Said the girl.

"What are you going to do with us?" Asked one of the Bleakswords.

"Unless you try to run away, we'll do nothing." Ghirah said, gesturing to the girl. "She on the other hand will."

A small pale hand reached out from the dark cloak and pulled the hood back to reveal the girl to the Druchii. Her face was cutesy if it weren't for her eyes that with just a look showed the elves the tortures she desired upon them. They were very unnerving eyes with her right pupil seemingly the abyss itself surrounded by a ring of purple and then her left eye looked like it was taken from a ferocious creature of Chaos with its crimson iris and ebony slit pupil. Her shoulder length hair was a point of some envy of Witch Elves since it looked to be drenched in the darkest cauldron of blood with the tips a lighter shade to resemble red flames. Rounded cheeks that held just some lingering baby fat gave her cute image but that was ruined by the absolute sadistic smile she wore. If Witch Elves were born, the girl was a rarity then.

"She will fight you." Ghirah announced.

The Bleakswords could not help but laugh. "We? Fight this little cunt?"

"She barely comes up to my waste."

Their so-called degrading of the girl only made the Druchii child smile. Ghirah smirked as she leaned down for some extra words of encouragement that were not needed. The girl jumped into the now formed arena facing the male Druchii. Her small hands reached out from the confines of her cloak and revealed twin daggers the same as the Witch Elves.

"C'mon, let's just kill this child and get on our way." One of the Bleakswords said and the two withdrew their blades.

They did not have their shield with them, not that they thought that was necessary to kill a child. Those thoughts turned into a different direction when the child sprang forth with enough speed to be a blur. The Druchii could only widen their eyes when they felt the twin daggers sink into their side just below their lowest rib. A fountain of blood later and the vision almost went white from pain.

"You - AAARGH!" Cried one of the male Druchii in agony and rage.

His eyes red with rage directed to the child still smirking at them. He charged forward while his companion was trying to endure the pain. As he brought down his sword to cleave through the child, she did not even move as her eyes followed the blade. At the last second, her left arm snapped up and somehow successfully parried the blade as though she was swatting a fly.

_'How - How does a child hold so much strength?!' _Thought the Bleaksword as he felt that a troll just batted his sword away, and he tightened his grip in time to not let go of his sword.

"Weak." Spat the child.

That one word brought forth the blinding anger yet again that made the Druchii unable to focus properly from his hurt pride. He went for a heavy slash to chop off the girl's legs with his companion rushing in front the side for his own follow up attack. Almost lazily the girl jumped over the glinting steel and with such skillful dexterity kicked her feet to the side of the blade that sent it towards the slash of the other one. The two blades canceled each other out while at the same time the girl drove her dagger into the one of the Bleaksword's right bicep. She used it as leverage to lift herself up, at the same time completely ruining the male Druchii's muscle arm, and kick the other one's chin with a crack.

The girl set back on the ground behind the Bleakswords, her dagger dislodged from the bicep of one of them that now looked to have torn a vicious hole through. The one that she kicked was bleeding from his mouth and spat out a few cracked teeth. His tongue also looked worse for wear as he had accidentally bitten it from the kick.

"What the hell are you, girl?" The one with the ruined arm demanded.

"Your superior." The girl said as cold as Nagarythe. "And you are so boring me."

The male Druchii raised their swords and slammed them down upon the girl who redirected the blows with a deflect. Her dagger slipped down their blades making sparks fly and she ducked between them to score a cut on their sides again. She then twisted around and stabbed her right dagger in the one of the Bleakswords. She made sure that the position of the blade was around the kidney where it hurt the most yet harmed the least. Her grin turned a bit more feral as she hurt her victim's wail of pain.

The other one came in for a slash the girl blocked with her remaining dagger. His strength was significantly weaker now that he had to use his left arm to fight. They engaged in exchanging blades, but it was obvious that the girl was merely playing with the adult Druchii. The girl was basically dancing around a clumsy Greenskin, always nicking for blood in every exchange of steel.

The girl leaped in the air suddenly in twirl and came down with both daggers raised above her head. This time, the male Druchii successfully defended himself and the twin daggers met the edge of his own sword. He was shocked that his body staggered under whatever crazy strength the girl possessed. It took all of his strength to push the girl away, but she right herself in a flip.

Standing up, the male Druchii was momentarily put off by the pout on her face. "You're no fun anymore~."

"What?" Exclaimed the Druchii with the missing teeth incredulously.

"Yeah~, you're too boring now~." The girl complained, gesturing to the Witch Elves in the trees. "They can have fun with what I have planned next."

The next the two Druchii males knew, barbed whips wrapped around their wrists and ankles courtesy of the Witch Elves in the trees. They hoisted them up to the air, the barbed wire shredding into them as it tightened like a snake with spins all over it. Blood rained lightly drizzled down to the snow and some of the Witch Elves even began to wash in the light fall of droplets. Two more wrapped around their torsos, held by two Witch Elves for each Bleaksword. Silent screams of pain rang out of their mouths, unable to voice themselves as the whips were far too tight for sufficient air.

"Now here's an interesting thought." The girl mused. "Do you think we can shred them in half?"

The Witch Elves holding the Druchii up nodded with glee. The Druchii didn't get a chance to scream for mercy before the Witch Elves started pulling and pushing on the whips around their torsos. The unfortunate Druchii in the air cried in agony as they felt as though a saw was slowly cutting into them, which was fairly accurate. The drizzle of blood turned into red rain, making the Witch Elves below laugh in joy as they showered in the liquid gore.

"I should not be surprised I would find you here." Spoke a highly recognized voice as dark as the night and colder than the snow.

The torture was put on the immediate halt at the sound of the voice, and the Witch Elves stood stock stiff at the sight of Malekith on a black steed. The Druchii hanging in the air didn't imagine until now that they could be thankful for the dark lord's timely appearance for their rescue. Yet, the girl out of all of them was not immediately shaking in fear, but rather her smile turned jolly at the sight of the Witch King.

"B-Bless you, my Lord." One of the Druchii. "You've come to save us."

"This rotten little shit trapped us here." Cursed the other one. "She should be executed for these crimes, or better yet made a whore like whatever mother birthed her in this world with a drunken bastard."

Every word that the male Druchii kept saying only made the sadistic grin on the girl's face grow till it became feral. Malekith continued to stare at the pair of Bleakswords, his gaze piercing their very soul. He released a low growl of exasperation and turned his gaze down to the girl.

"So," Malekith spoke, his tone completely neutral, "what do you have to say for yourself, brat?"

"That I did a wonderful job... Father." The girl chirped, dropping the bombshell.

"F-Father?" The Druchii Bleakswords stuttered. "What is the meaning of this?"

Malekith sighed. "As you have described, I am the _bastard _that is her father."

The Bleakswords gulped in fear. Indirectly, they had just insulted the Witch King right in front of him. Their lives were forfeit at this point, and their only hope was for a quick death. Malekith ordered his steed forth till he was towering over the girl, who was still grinning like a maniac.

"You just had to be so troublesome, brat." Malekith hissed, his eyes narrowing at the girl.

"Whatever do you mean." The girl said innocently. "I am just weeding out the weak. Those two were probably bribed into the regiment. They made perfect test subjects for new torture methods."

Malekith didn't say anything else. Instead he reached his right arm down and lifted the girl up by the back of her cloak and set her down in front of him. The girl tried to escape, but Malekith kept a tight hold on his daughter.

"Hey, I wasn't done playing with Ghirah." The girl whined.

"Quiet, Allisara." Malekith growled. "We are leaving."

Allisara pouted. "Fine. Bye, Lady Ghirah. Tell me if they actually split apart."

"Will do, princess." Ghirah replied back.

As Malekith ordered his speed in a moderate gallop, the last they heard whilst exiting the forest was the screams of agony from the mail Druchii followed by the loud crunch of bone being ripped apart by steel. Or possibly their limbs being torn off from the Witch Elves sheer strength. It saddened Allisara that she wasn't able to see it because being the daughter of Malekith didn't let her appreciate the screams of torture as much as she wanted. Grandma understood, but she didn't bring as many slaves for her blood rituals for the young Druchii's glee to watch.

"You're mad, aren't you?" Allisara said.

"Exasperated would be a better term." Malekith replied.

Which was true after all he had killed foolish nobles just because they irritated him with nonsense. He should be pissed actually since he had to (literally) cut a meeting short with a noble from the eastern provinces when he heard news from the servants Allisara escaped the citadel. Again he might add and that meant at least one less soul alive in Nagarythe for every time she did so. It certainly was _not _because he was worried about her safety, but the fact he wanted to keep her identity a secret, excluding the local Witch Elves that acted as caretakers for the girl miraculously. The sole reason (excuse) that Malekith convinced himself for the child turned Druchii that shared his blood, which meant the blood of Aenarion as well.

"... How long were you watching anyway?" Allisara asked seriously, expecting an answer.

"Since you started playing around and making fools of those soldiers." Malekith answered, using the word 'soldiers' very loosely.

And his daughter agreed with his thoughts with a scoff. "They were weak, unfit to effectively swing a sword. They would've made a joke of the image of our might as soon as they would've have died on the battlefield. A more painful demise was better for them."

"Don't think that is any excuse to sneak out of the citadel when I forbade you to do so." Malekith admonished with a harsh tone that would make lesser man flinch in fear.

Unfortunately, truly his blood ran in her veins as Allisara's eyes furrowed in challenge. "What's stopping me?"

"My word is enough of a law for you to follow to the letter." Malekith said coldly.

"I can handle myself." Allisara protested, and to show she summoned a red ball of magic in her left hand. Pure, contained Chaos magic, a side effect from Allisara's transformation into a full Druchii since being exposed to Chaos magic.

"Allisara." Malekith snarled, the ball of magic dissipating with just his glare alone, and his tone showing he was at the end of his temper.

"Fine, I'll shut up now, Dad." Allisara relented with a sigh.

The young Druchii did not notice the way Malekith's arm twitched when she used that informal term for 'Father'. It was a very strange sensation for the elder and scarred son of Aenarion being called such an affectionate term. As though that he was a proper parent worthy to be called so, no matter how twisted the child was anyway. Over the years, Malekith raised the once human infant not only as a weapon but as an heiress of sorts. He had trained her in both arcane arts that she has soaked up thanks to Morathi and personally trained Allisara in the art of the sword. Malekith knew that teaching a child so young was brutal in of itself, and add to the fact he was the farthest from the kindest person in the world. Yet, Allisara always came back for more and never once backing down.

This was definitely a new feeling he had towards the young Druchii. It can all be traced to the very night he claimed her when he gave the infant a new name. He did not know what came over him in that moment, but Malekith in that moment chose to name her after his dear dead wife. The Asrai who seemed to dance as beautifully with blades as she was in life. Malekith mentally beat himself over why he had to name his new daughter just so old wounds can reopen. But as the years go by, he was in... conflict with being a father, and he could not stop himself from imagining if raising his new daughter was a glimpse into a future that could've been. If only he was better, perhaps this was what would have awaited him. A family with children to be proud of.

Because, loathe as he is to admit it, he was certainly proud towards Allisara's growth as a warrior and as a Druchii. She proved herself to be cruel at heart as she took her time torturing a slave in her first kill with a knife, and she was ambitious enough that she was already making plans of conquest upon the whole world for total domination. At the same time, Allisara was an analytical leader, looking out for the best of the Druchii to make them the supreme power among all and weeding out the weak and foolish to think they can trick and bribe their way through. She hated weakness, something Malekith anticipated she would keep when she met any stuck-up nobles that will manage to piss her off. She may not be on the level of a lord or general in the art of the sword, Allisara was already skilled enough to slaughter through Bleakswords and even hold herself against the elite Swords of Khaine in the citadel. Give her time to grow into her prime and she may as well surpass himself.

Malekith did not deserve to be called 'Dad', much less 'Father' at all. But he can take comfort at least that Allisara, his daughter, lived up to the lineage bestowed upon her. Combined with the divine blood she had with the the blood of Aenarion, her potential will make her godlike. She can't be completely perfect, evidence to the fact that Allisara took too much joy in torture and weeding out the weak in the military. Her antics have made her the acquaintance of the Witch Elves, some even proposing a position for her among their ranks. The Witch King blamed his mother for that from leaving Allisara in her care for just a day and now has the sadist tendencies for murder and blood to rival Priestesses of Khaine. But Allisara was destined for greatness, and she has proven herself to Malekith that she is indeed a worthy heir to his legacy and even as a descendant of Aenarion.

Perhaps it was time to reveal Allisara to the public. As she said herself, Allisara was no weakling with a blade that was as sharp as her pleasure for torture, and even more dangerous was her prodigal talents in magic. For Allisara had in fact held the power to command the winds of Chaos. Druchii have used Chaos magic before, but it was only possible through the use of summoning rituals to call forth the power from the Chaos realm. What Allisara does was directly channelling from the Winds of Magic themselves as though she were a Greater Daemon. It was indeed a frightening ability, one that held many advantages for Malekith's plans.

"Allisara." Malekith said. "Today, the nobles from all the provinces will gather in Naggarond. I plan to reveal yourself to them as my daughter and successor. What say you?"

Words were not needed for Malekith's answer. Instead, Allisara looked up to lock her gaze with the metal face plate, and her face split into a wicked grin worthy for a Witch Elf. Malekith can only hope that Allisara doesn't decide to stab a noble's eyes out.

Who was he kidding? She's definitely going to maul one anyway, and Morathi will probably laugh as she watches.

* * *

(That Night)

A grand dining hall fit for royalty beyond the imagination of humans to copy was filled with nobles from the provinces and clans that made up the empire of the Dark Elves. The Cult of Pleasure led by Morathi was the first to arrive being the sole and sworn partner to Nagarythe, followed by the Hag Queen Hellebron from Har Ganeth. The others that came were simply allies with the same goals or were basic puppets to serve Malekith in fear. Exceptions were Lokhir Fellheart, who was not present and his loyalties were solely based on the principles of the Druchii and the worship of Khaine. He would stay loyal as long as Malekith was a Druchii favored by Khaine.

Thus, he sat on his throne with his blade, **The Destroyer, **leaning lazily on his right armchair and he overlooked the procession of this glorified banquet. Such was the common case for rulers to appeal to the masses to a certain degree. No use in having lords and nobles quivering wrecks nor be they bitter slaves. His metal-clad fingers shaped like talon tapped on the armchair that made a high-pitched clink. He was bored, that much was obvious, but the mystery in that was how far bored was Malekith that he was going to kill someone if his nerves were that far strained.

In the back corner leading to a hall away from the procession awaited Allisara. Her black cloak was pushed back, revealing her royal attire of black robes and purple armor gilded gold. At her hip was her personal blade, and upon her forehead was a menacing tiara of black iron with a red diamond in the center surrounded by three dark purple crystals. In all sense, she looked like a miniature general for an army, which Malekith sought to make her into soon. She was currently being tended by Morathi, and that did not fill him with much hope for anytime that his mother spoke words to Allisara. Her love of blood, killing, and torture can attest to that.

His hopes were not heard unfortunately as he heard Morathi and Allisara cackle.

"So," Morathi said, clad in a more formal attire consisting of black robes with openings in her side and windows to her long legs that gave her the unmatched sexual appeal, "what has my little sociopath of a granddaughter done while I was gone?"

"Well..." Allisara trailed with an innocent roll of her eyes that Morathi knew was far, far from that, "I was spying on the local Bleakswords in our garrison, found some to play that were below my standards. They proved very... useful for my delights."

"Oh really?" Morathi replied with a gleam. "How much did they scream?"

"They begged to Khaine for mercy. Khaine. For mercy." Cackled Allisara and her grandmother soon joining in. "Can you believe such foolishness begging to the god of murder for _mercy_? They sealed their fates, and I am assured Khaine enjoyed the rain of blood earlier today."

Morathi laughed in further amusement. "Do tell, granddaughter."

Allisara reflected the wickedness of Morathi. "Imagine hanging two foolish little excuses in the air by their feet and hands. Then imagine a whip held by Witch Elves slowly but surely sawing them in half. Sinew and flesh were just about to be torn about and the rain of blood was already falling for the Witch Elves to play in."

Morathi could not help but be so proud of the little daemon that was her new granddaughter and the cruel mind that she held in that little head of hers. It was almost cute in a way how such a seemingly sweet little girl took such an addiction to make people bleed and scream for the longest of times. If all Druchii were sadists, then Allisara was one of the rarity that was a true sadist among the Druchii.

"Looks like the processions are about to start." Morathi noted as she saw the last of the guests enter the hall.

As the room was filled with chatter of Druchii lords and ladies exchanging pleasantries and schemes, Allisara glanced to the entrance. The last pair that entered the hall was an odd pair. One was an obvious noble wearing rich robes with a sword at his hip yet lacking most if not any armor. He was awfully young as he bore the banner of the Silven, and Allisara new the head of that clan had a daughter as heir. She assumed that he must be the nephew of the head of the family. Allisara glanced at her boringly at the young Druchii had the usual cruel look in his eyes common with everyone she met. Nothing special at all in her mind.

What caught her attention was the apparent slave he brought in. Slaves were not barred entrance from meetings such as this and can serve as show of wealth, but it was curious nonetheless. The slave in question was also a subject of interest to Allisara. It was a girl her age with the same pale complexion common to Druchii but her back length hair was a light shade of blonde instead of white. That was a certain oddity among Druchii to have such a sunny shade of hair, and her eyes as well bore a strange deep blue hue to them. She was dressed in rags that covered the girl's modesty, and a shackle around her neck connected to links of chains held in the noble's left hand.

There was a look in the slave's eyes that piqued Allisara's interests in further. They were empty without purpose, but were replaced with a burning passion of need. It was hidden well, but there was an undeniable thirst that Allisara can see. The kind that makes a person ignore the faults and blessings the world brings upon them because they do not care. The kind where their entire life was revolved on a near maniacal devotion of their own selfish need. There Allisara saw a strong thirst to kill in the most humiliating, painful, and bloodiest way possible. An unspoken need for destruction and cruelty

She was far, far more interesting than the arrogant noble that was dragging by her leash. With a simple pull, the girl walked forward with him while keeping a mask of empty hopelessness. The nobles around them spared nonchalant glances at the slave, with the youngster arrival in question giving a scowl at them in return. Allisara rolled her eyes. Typical common blunder that will get you killed down the line.

As the two reached a table, that was when the girl suddenly snapped into action. She jumped up with the skilled nimbleness forcing the noble's arm to tie himself from being caught off guard. As soon as that happened, the slave girl grabbed for the nearest knife and started stabbing randomly upon the noble. The knife was too blunt for an instant kill but the strength in her stabs was enough to draw blood. And when there was blood, Allisara could see the smile on the slave's face. It wasn't the kind in the wake of one's vengeance, but the one from the just the pure joy of taking a life.

"You little whore!" Swore the noble, swiping his now mangled left arm to get the Druchii girl off of him. "That is it! You're head will be off on a platter."

Oh no, Allisara can't have that. Not after seeing such an interesting person, who was showing no fear towards the noble as he withdrew his sword. Malekith narrowed his eyes at the display and was about to order the noble to take it outside. No use spilling blood on his floors from other people. That is until he sensed the increase in dark magic and he knew that it was out of his hands.

The sword in the noble's hands was batted away by a dagger of black magic that embedded in the iron walls before dissipating into motes of light. The dagger in question was a very small application of Blade Wind. Instead of commanding a storm, Allisara had taken it to use as little energy as possible to conjure only one bladed construct at a time. The spell was one of her firsts and favorites in Allisara's arsenal, even if she had yet to call a full-powered spell.

"Oh my, I can't let you do that." Allisara's voice rang out through the hall as she made her appearance with Morathi staying behind to watch the show.

"Who the hell is this little bitch?!" Snarled the noble she knocked the sword out of.

Malekith's right hand tightened and ever so slowly inched to his blade. Morathi in the meantime was holding in her laughter. The nobles around the hall were giving confused looks to the new Druchii that entered the hall with her attire that suggested that she was a very high-ranking noble. The older ones that have lived for centuries could feel the raw power that was emanating from Allisara and they had to hold in from gulping.

Allisara just widened her smile. "Just someone who is interested in the girl. Quite skilled she is if she managed to get the jump on her own master with ease. Such talent I cannot afford to leave in such... unreliable care."

"If it's a duel you want, then allow me to cut your head!" Roared the young noble, blinded in his rage by so far children that were humiliating him.

He did not make it two steps before he suddenly clutched his chest in pain as Allisara had her left hand outstretched in a gripping motion. The Druchii fell to his knees letting out gags of agony as he felt as though a fist gripped at his rib cage and was slowly pulling it out. Veins bulged abnormally in red going up his neck as the invisible hold tightened upon him. Allisara twitched her left wrist and the noble was suddenly pulled towards her. Unable to move, the noble stared at the mismatched eyes of Allisara, her left eye glowing an ominous red as she laid her left hand on his cheek.

"I don't take requests to the dirt." Allisara said, and the noble's whole being filled with pain as Allisara released Chaos magic through her palm. "I make them beg as I walk on them."

The skin and veins were flaming red from the chaotic energies forced into him. He felt that his very soul was being stabbed a thousand fold while pushed into the fires of the earth. Normally Allisara would not resort to this type of torture preferring more blood, but she wanted to make a show and make it quick. She loved the feeling of fear from the nobles around her.

"Give into my demands and I'll release you from your torment." Allisara hissed sweetly.

"Fine!" Cried the noble. "The slave is yours!"

"Ah, so soon~." Allisara whined a little. "Go ahead, enjoy your eternal release of pain."

Red flames burned from her fingers and forced themselves into the Druchii's body. The noble convulsed uncontrollably as the Chaos magic destroyed his very core of being. Ultimately, he fell from Allisara's grasp and turned into ash, leaving only his clothes. With him done, Allisara walked to the blonde Druchii girl and raised her up gently to her feet.

"What is your name?" Allisara asked.

"... Seras." Answered the now named Seras.

"Ah, a good name." Allisara said. "I feel that the coming future is looking bright for the both of us."

She may have just found her new Priestess for her campaign once Allisara is of age. One of the nobles stood up from his seat and looked to Malekith for answers.

"Lord Malekith, just who is this girl?" The noble inquired.

"Leaders of the Druchii," Malekith announced, gesturing to Allisara, "allow me to introduce Allisara, my daughter and heiress to this empire. Now bow before your Witch Princess."

Their shock at the revelation that Malekith has a daughter almost costed them not following the direct command from the Witch King. And so all the nobles faced Allisara, her eyes bearing untold malice and sadism that shook them to their core despite being a child. They all bowed before her, and she relished it as she it as a prelude for all to bow before her. Thus, the legend of the Allisara, daughter of Malekith, the Witch Princess, has begun.

* * *

**I really wanted to get this chapter out before anything else. This chapter served as a prelude of Ruby or otherwise Allisara's growth in character. The next chapter will be a time-skip where she is a general commanding her own army. This whole story is based around the Druchii. The world of war is forever changed, and the gods of war smile in glee in Witch Princess' path of destruction.**

**Up next is Chapter 3: Slaughtered Fate**

**Stay in touch. Please, _please _leave a review.**


	3. The Eternal Challenger's Challenger

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of this. Please support the official release.**

**Chapter 3: The Eternal Challenger's Challenger**

(8 Years Later; Icedrake Fjord)

Wulfrik the Wanderer, also known as the Eternal Challenger and the World Walker, the mightiest warrior of the Norsca and self-proclaimed strongest man in the world, finally saw what it meant to be the object of humility by the gods. He should have first realized when he succumbed to the folly of drink of glory and spouting claim that he was the mightiest warrior in the world be it man, elf, dwarf, lizardman, or chaos spawn. That would not be so bad if in his drunk mind he didn't foolishly claim that he was equal of every warrior of the mortal realm and of realms beyond mortal flesh. It was expected that Wulfrik's own gods would not be so enthusiastic about that.

They cursed with an impossible deed, and more of a cruel joke of irony. If Wulfrik was truly the greatest warrior, then he shall prove that claim. By order of the gods, Wulfrik was to take to all four corners of the world and challenge its greatest warriors of the modern day.

The Seafang, a ship blessed by the Dark Gods to travel through the Chaos Realms and traverse the world in the blink of an eye was not enough for Wulfric. Unfortunately, most of these worthy warriors to prove Wulfrik's worth to the gods are leaders to entire nations. Challenging them meant challenging the armies that were at their beck and call. His only option was to create a unified Norsca to take the whole world by storm.

That was Wulfrik's quest started by conquering all the tribes of the north. He dueled and killed every chieftain to force their own tribes under his banner. Once that was done, Wulfrik began growing his own armies. Wulfrik and beaten cheiftains that submitted soon marched from their lands with hordes of Marauders equipped in armor and metal-wrending axes, packs of armored Skin Wolves, and all the while atop mighty beasts such as the Ice Drake or the enormous Mammoths that dwarfed Trolls and Giants.

These very armies then put themselves to the test first by taking out the Dwarven strongholds in the mountains near the End of the World. It did not matter to Wulfrik how high their walls were or thick their steel. Stone walls crumbled and workshops turned to ash. For each mountain stronghold they pillaged in fire and war, Wulfrik battled each of their Lords, but their crafted armor made no resistance for the Champion's blade aimed for the short heads.

Not even the stronghold of the nearby Skaven were safe from the Eternal Challenger. In fact, the infestation of Ratmen meant more blood, skull, and hearts to offer to the Chaos Gods. They can skulk in the ground all they want, but at the end of the day they're fair slaughter for his army to have fun with.

His sights were set on the Empire and the Kingdoms of Bretonnia. Wulfrik needed to challenge Emperor Karl Franz and Louen Leoncoeur respecitvely. Mighty they may be, but they were not prepared for the united hordes of the North that would soon burn their precious lands. They will fall before Chaos as all things will, and his pillaging of the nations of man will herald the awakening of the Chaos Warriors.

That was the plan, at least until an unexpected factor came into play. Never did Wulfrik expect that of all the factions, it was the Dark Elves from the North of the New World. The Norsca and the Empire of Naggarond were more or less non-aggressive towards each other. Until a few months ago, a radical change went through the Dark Elves and suddenly the remaining Norscan tribes that were settled in the West corner of the world were suddenly silenced. Then came their Black Arks and ships of a new army completely unknown to Wulfrik, carrying banners not belonging to any of the clans. By the time Wulfrik had realized his territory was in danger, these new armies of Naggarond led by unknown generals already swept through the Helspire, Vanaheim, and Naglfari Mountains.

None of his provinces lasted long, and the Dark Elves made their new homes after killing or enslaving all Norscans. The strangest part of them was that the army was undeterred by the corruption. In fact, the Chaos Wastelands that made up the frozen north completely left them and the occupied settlements alone. As if something was commanding the Chaos energies drenched in the land to not harm them, which should be impossible. Only Greater Daemons and those transformed by the Chaos Gods themselves could affect the land, but this was an entirely different scale.

He had to go on the defensive to keep his land, or else all Wulfrik worked for to prove himself the superior warrior would be all for naught and his soul would be banned from the halls with the gods. Not to mention that torture the daemons promised to inflict upon Wulfrik in the afterlife.

Wulfrik returned to his capital of Icedrake Fjord, but it was too late to save the rest of the Ice Tooth Mountains. Doomkeep and the Longship Graveyard were already in their clutches by the Dark Elves, but as it would seem the bulk of the invading force was converging on Icedrake Fjord. Somehow, Wulfrik knew that the army that was knocking on his doorstep was led by the main general, the very leader that staged this entire invasion, and the Champion knew that that very general was coming toward his capital not because of territory but himself. The Eternal Challenger's gruff irritation turned into excitement. For once, a worthy opponent, for what else but a strong warrior could lead such a force, was coming after him for a challenge.

Thus, the siege began. The Dark Elf army encircled the capital camp of over four thousand strong against an invasion force of equal number. Their Reaper Bolt Throwers did not simply fire steel bolts, but rained down a storm of arrows lit in crimson fire. Heat suffused the air, overpowering even the chillwinds of the north from the inferno that came down upon the Norscan capital. This hell on the mortal world lasted for a month, yet they did not attack. Wulfrick knew why: the general wanted him to go on the offensive.

The World Walker did not back down from the challenge. He marched his army joined by the Throgg, who he won against in a duel. The Chaos Troll himself led an army of his own consisting of Ice Trolls and packs of Ice Wolves. Wulfrick himself marched out with his Marauders out the camp, armored and ready for combat. His mammoth mount was killed in the siege, so Wulfrik rode out on the top of a chariot pulled by hungry wolves bigger than most bears. From his stand on his mount he saw his Marauders marching across the snowy plains to meet the enemy on the battlefield.

A roar drew his attention to the air where Wulfrik saw the Cold-Voider flying in the sky. A legendary Frost Dragon that was considered the apex predator of the mountains that Wulfrik beat into submission and now serves him. Behind him, Wulfrik looked to see his packs of Skin Wolves carefully marching ahead of three giant mammoths fully armored with one of them carrying a shrine to the gods to empower his army.

Wulfrik considered this the fiercest army in the world that would take on the many nations and burn everything in its path to ruin. So it begged the question what did the Dark Elves offer to properly challenge Wulfrik's power?

The answer when the horizon ahead of them was suddenly covered in a blanket of black holding banners of Naggarond. Wulfrik's trained eyes saw perfectly the marching knife-earred invaders, but he was momentarily stunned. The bulwark of the army that dared to face him consisted of Bleakspears, but there was an obvious difference. He had met Bleakspears before and knew of their universal trait of their annoying arrogance. However, these Bleakspears carried themselves as proper soldiers with stoic expressions showing not an inch of a sneer. They marched as true soldiers of war. Unlike regular Bleakspears, these units wore hide of sea serpents instead of the purple-colored steel. Which meant they were more durable and agile than normal.

Behind the lines of Bleakspears marched units of Dark Elves covered head to toe in thick black armor with red cloaks whilst carrying mighty halberds to rend armor. Wulfrik did not recognize them as 'guards' of Naggarond, but they served well in the armies of Dark Elves as heavy infantry to hold the line even against monsters. The Eternal Challenger knew behind and possibly at the far sides were missile units armed with crossbows capable of piercing through armor like paper. That is what he assumed at least and cried out his orders to properly prepare for the threat.

As soon as he did, the Dark Elves began their charge towards his army. Wulfrik made a feral smile at the sight. Yes, this would be a battle worthy of many sagas to sing and talk about. He could practically feel his warriors shaking in anticipation, and they only needed Wulfrik's word to charge forth. So why not let the wolves out?

"SLAUGHTER THEM!" Wulfrik roared out, his voice like thunder for his entire army to hear.

His Marauders cheered his name, his Skin Wolves howled in excitement, and his beasts roared for battle. Thus did Wulfrik's army take the charge with his men taking the lead to meet the Bleakspears head on. The Cold-Voider screeched as it flew over the charging hordes of Marauders to wreak havoc and shock among the enemy to assist his men, and following them would be Trogg with his beasts flanking from the sides and Wulfric with his Skin Wolves to join his Marauders in the killing. The mammoths would make their way through the front to properly plow through the bulk of the forces. Such was the plan that Wulfrik had to win this glorious battle, to crush his opponents strength and retrieve the head of their general personally when all of the leader's forces were torn asunder.

This plan went askew when another roar went off through the skies. This was a roar of mighty dragon as well, yet where the Cold-Voider shriek was shrill and chilled to the bone, this roar was mighty like thunder or the wrath of the gods. Wulfrik's eyes scoured the white sky murky from the fallen snow, but he could see a black shape descending from the sky. Then it appeared from the clouds to eclipse the light of day. A Black Dragon, a species bred by Dark Elves, that was massive, easily the size of the Cold-Voider if not bigger. Along with its pitch scales that were the usual for Black Dragons, it also had accents of red upon its limbs, claws, and spine. Instead of noxious breath, the Black Dragons maw flicked with dark crimson embers.

It was what was on top of the dragon that caught Wulfrik's attention. Riding it on a chair chained down at the base of the dragon's neck Wulfrik saw a single person steering the dragon by massive reins. His smile grew tenfold now that he has sighted his prey, but he could unfortunately not get a clear view as the dragon's constant beat of its wings covered the rider.

His smile faltered when the black and red dragon crashed into the Cold-Voider, locking the Frost Dragon in midair to fight with a rival for the skies. At the same time, his Marauders crashed down their axes upon the charging line of Dark Elves. But at the last second, the Dark Elves stood their ground instead of charging forth and made a shield wall with their spears pointed forward. The move baffled Wulfrik for what reason would they do that if his Marauders would simply kill them on the spot.

The answer came when out of nowhere Witch Elves jumped over the shoulders and heads of their Dark Elf brothers with the grace only elves can have. Instead of axes smashing down on armor and shields, whips and blades shred into the flesh of his men. These Witch Elves were not the usual norm, for they were well-armored with plated pauldrons and braces to protect their arms and thick leather corsets to resist blows from opposing blades. They were even more deadly as they were beautiful, slaughtering through Wulfrik's warriors like a dance of murder and blood with both whip and blade in hand. So skilled and graceful were the Witch Elves they did not even harm their allies while leaving pieces of Marauders on the now blood-stained snow.

These Witch Elves were all led by a single Death Hag with hair as lustrous as Dwarven gold with icy blue eyes. The intense gore she danced in from tearing out entrails and hacking limbs could not mar her beauty nor dirty her blonde hair. Set on her head was a circlet of black iron that went around her head and protruded five spikes just above her temple. In her hands she wielded twin knives that made quick work of metal and flesh. Any of those to survive were coughing up their own blood made a sickly green from the poison from the steel of her knives.

Trogg's monsters never made it to the enemy flanks and were instead met with shades riding Cold Ones into battle carrying either greatswords or halberds along with their crossbows. The Ice Trolls found themselves at the mercy of hungry reptiles as the Cold Ones bit down on their flesh. Two would bite down on the arms of a troll, their combined weight forcing it to kneel before one of the shades hacked off the head with their weapons. Some stayed at a distance pelting the monsters and wolves with bolts that dug deep into their hide. By the twenty that were shot, one would fall.

Reaper Bolt Throwers started from far behind the enemy lines down on the mammoths. Wulfrik scowled in irritation, figuring out they were taking out the monsters that would be able to level the enemy down. He had no choice but to shout an order for the mammoths to charge despite his Marauders in the way. The giant monsters roared forth into the fray of the battle, stomping upon both Norscan and Dark Elf. The Witch Elves avoided the monsters with ease thanks to their agility, as if they were expecting them to attack. The Champion's eyes widened in realization, but it was too late.

The Dark Elves spread out in a practiced motion big enough for the mammoths. The monsters would have continued on to slaughter the enemy until a whistle in the air drew Wulfrik's attention. From the skies rained down golden fireballs crashing down on the mammoths. Their fur was lit in golden fire, making the mammoths cry in pain and shake so violently their Norscan riders fell off.

The next that followed would haunt Wulfrik in his last moments. He felt the Winds of Magic shift. From the once gentle breeze it once held, it became a torrent of violent gusts that felt mountains would crumble from the force. Wulfrik and every warrior in his army knew that it was their gods' powers manifesting and the Winds of Chaos were blowing. But the intent, the vile feeling of being stared back by the abyss, was directed at them.

It came as a shock to Wulfrik to realize that the Winds of Chaos were not blowing for them. The crackling of lightning turned the Wanderer's attention to the sky where the Druchii general was, and it was there he found where and how the Chaos magic was forming. Wulfrik was filled with both anger, shock, and fear that a Druchii was using the powers of Chaos, the magic of the Ruinous Powers they served, against them.

Chaos winds collected into the leader's raised left palm till the Druchii was holding a bolt of red lightning. The massive black dragon the Druchii rode upon kept steady as the red bolt was flung towards the armored mammoth with the war shrine on its back. On contact, the Chaos powers electrified, but no real damage was done on the outside.

However, the body of the mammoth began to convulse unnaturally, and Wulfric could notice significant shifting beneath the hide as though something was lurking inside of it. Untold nightmares that could make hardened men lose their sanity could not compare to the defilement of flesh that was wrought on the beast. Its whole body mutated from the Chaos energies going wild within it, first starting with the mammoth's entire rib cage exploding out of its chest. The giant bones themselves grew gnarled and twisted like the branches of trees. Some parts split open to the marrow that was growing mutated pusses, gnarled growths of pulsing flesh, and fleshy appendages.

The knees gave out as the joints and the bones broke apart in mutated flesh and cancerous tumors that grew eyes and mouths all in some eldritch law. The energies that made the war shrine were turned against the mount, and the mammoths head suddenly exploded as its own bloating guts erupted from the throat and mouth. As before, the mutations became random from the ongoing gore with the blobs of massive guts sprouting terrifying eyes, teeth-covered puss, and tongues and tentacles from no matter of origin.

In just thirty seconds, the massive titan was turned into mass of mutating flesh on the battlefield that continued to writhe and pulse. The Norsca were familiar with the happenings of the mutations of Chaos, but never have they witnessed the Ruinous Powers put at such a scale on a beast such as the mammoth. It also added to a loss of morale that not only was their war shrine destroyed, but the enemy was using the Ruinous Powers they put their faith to against them. And why was a Druchii of all things blessed by their gods as it would seem for no normal soul should be able to wield the Winds of Chaos? Any man of the untainted nations would have lost their grip on reality and sanity, vomiting out their own guts and clawing out their eyes to rid of the unimaginable abomination.

Even Wulfrik was unnerved at the sight, but his reaction was kept back by iron will. He expected the Druchii to be a bit shaken at the forces of Chaos at work right in front of them. That wasn't the case as he saw the stoic faces of the Druchii warriors break into smiles. The Witch Elves began to laugh hysterically, making their movements vicious and swiftness two fold to cut down the Norscan warriors.

Wulfrik did not let this hinder him, and commanded his packs of Ice Wolves and Skin Wolves to follow his lead. At the far left where Trogg and his monsters were battling, they managed to break through the onslaught of Shade Riders and were engaged in combat with the Druchii armored and wielding halberds. He knew that those particular Druchii could prove the most dangerous against his men as their equipment was of top quality for a fight and a dwindling of their numbers with shock troops can do wonders. That is what Trogg was aiming for, jumping into the fray with his giant stone hammer.

It was unfortunate that his mammoths were caught in an artillery trap as they were continued to be bombarded by whatever magical projection was being fired from afar. Possibly a Black Ark that had managed to sneak its way down the south. It would take more than that however to stop the mammoths rampage and it filled Wulfrik with satisfaction to see the giant beasts still aimed at crushing the enemies around them. Seeing as how the Druchii were too distracted in gaining distance from the war mammoths lest they be killed by their own weaponry, Wulfrik rallied his men with his voice alone to press the attack.

The Witch Elves were simply too few to completely hold back the amount of Marauders and they remade their charge against the wall of shields and spears. The Druchii met them halfway, their weapons making contact first before the hail of axes could. But the disadvantage of a spear was to pull it back out in time to make another thrust before an attack came. Spear and shields made for a good defense, but a much less proper offense.

As the main force was in combat, Wulfrick led his own followers of wolves to go to the left flank so he may enter the battle himself. His wolves snarled and barked in excitement ready to tear into their enemies for fresh blood. It was only that Wulfrik made the turn to charge into the flank did another complication arise. The snow shifted so suddenly and out popped a full unit of shades armed with loaded with crossbows aimed right at him.

He fell into another trap. Again. His teeth barred openly in frustration as he reined to the left as far as he could to avoid the hail of bolts that zipped through the air upon his wolves. Armor meant nothing, and his Skin Wolves suffered wounds that dug deep into hide, and his packs of Ice Wolves stood no chance in the rain. That was a quarter of his forces decimated right then and there, and the shades were about to reload for another round.

The Skin Wolves, by Wulfrik's orders, turned their sights on the shades instead, and the Druchii met them without fear and raised blades. Wulfrik continued his charge towards the Druchii, intent on letting out his rage through his blade on any poor soul he saw. His allies from the other side under Trogg's command seeing Wulfrik's intent, decided to aid. A Balefiend magic user of the Winds of Fire casted down a rain of fireballs to soften up the Druchii for Wulfrik and his remaining wolves.

Fire burned ferociously against the cold winds, yet Wulfrik jumped through the fray gladly. His chariot cut down Druchii like a meat grinder as he passed by, and his sword swung wildly at all sides to cleave off heads. His blood pumped as the rush of battle fueled him ever more. To slaughter, to kill. Collect their skulls. Tear out their hearts. Draw their last breath.

Wulfrik was starting to laugh maniacally, now in the center of the main battle. The fight had chaotic to the point wherever Wulfrik looked, there was only Druchii fighting Norsca and fire burned everywhere the Balefiend's magic. Truly, it was a beautiful sight of what war really is, and the Wanderer loved every second of it.

His moment was ruined when the dragons previously battled in the air crashed down in the midst of the battle. Their fall made the ground shake hard enough to make Wulfrik stumble. It was then that Wulfrik felt the impact of someone kicking from above on his back, sending him off his chariot and to the ground on his hands. He was able to keep his head leveled to see that the one who kicked was the Druchii general, who decided to leap off his dragon to strike him from behind.

Coward was the first word that came to mind when Wulfrik didn't see his attacker, but it was only a short while. A black shadow approached from the still burning plains, and it suddenly felt that the carnage around him was meaningless. Here, in this moment, the only thing that mattered was the challenger that came before him. He would admit that the general made quite the entrance walking through the fires to meet him face to face, but once the Wanderer saw 'him' it wasn't exactly what he expected.

Instead of the usual rigid and strong build Wulfrik expected from a general, the Druchii that approached him was shorter than with a slimmer frame. A black cape was draped over the left shoulder to hide the left arm. That was all he could clarify really for the Druchii was covered head-to-toe in black armor made into a scale-like design so as to not hinder movement. There was no sign of skin that Wulfrik could see, and the helm that consisted of three horns and a mask showed none of the face. All that Wulfrick really did see where the mismatched eyes of purple and red that glared at him.

'His' choice of weapons were odd to say for he never thought a warrior would bring both a sword and a halberd. The sword in question had a guard and hilt decorated in gold and black, and the blade was eerie dark grey with a single sharp edge and serrated on the other side. The halberd in question was unusual as it looked more like a spear with an over-sized point, and was holstered on the Druchii's back.

Now words were spoken, and the duel commenced immediately as the Druchii charged forth. 'He' opened with a thrust of the wicked grey blade, and Wulfrik acted accordingly putting his shied up in defense. His eyes widened from the raw strength put into the blow that caused his feet to slide back a few feet. Wulfrik hadn't felt strength like that other than Trogg's hammer. Since when did Druchii get such high physical strength?

Yet despite such a raw strength, Wulfrik's challenger was quicker on 'his' feet than most of his foes. It was as if 'his' feet blurred over the ground and the Druchii was hovering. Not that Wulfrik can't adapt to the speed. His eyes tracked the Druchii's movements till at the right moment he angled his blade to the left just slightly titled to the air to block the blade that threatened to cut off his arm.

His eyes narrowed as he took in the Druchii's stance. Wulfrik expected that an opponent of smaller stature would have used two hands on the weapon to compensate for the difference of strength. Yet, Wulfrik's opponent held his blade in 'his' left hand, but his sword arm was shaking from blocking the blow. For someone so small, it baffled Wulfrik how his opponent had such strength behind 'his' blows.

Wulfrik planted a foot forward to steady his ground. Those mismatched eyes narrowed in response. There was a surge of magic, and the strength in the opponent went tenfold. He was forced to step back once his defense faltered, but not before paying the price of having the serrated edge of the blade biting into his shoulder, his armor ignored in the swing.

The Wanderer cursed in all manner of tongues. The duel has just started, and the opponent has drawn the first blood. Back at neutral distance, Wulfrik eyed the Druchii, who didn't even give the courtesy to give 'his' name. At the same time, Wulfrik's blood boiled. His expectations had been met and exceeded. Whoever this general was to challenge him directly, 'he' has proven to be the most worthy opponent to date.

Wulfrik needed a successful blow on his part. That much he knew was necessary, but the pace of the fight was not in his control. Again, the Druchii pressed on the offensive with a wide sweep. Wulfrik's tall shield defended him from the strong blows, each impact sounding like a hammer striking an anvil. In one swing where the Druchii held the blade above 'his' head, 'he' fainted the blow by suddenly dropping the sword. It was snapped in the grip of 'his' right hand, right out of Wulfrik's peripheral vision. He suddenly felt a Troll's hammer smashed into the side of his shield where the Druchii struck, throwing off Wulfrik's balance to the side. A cry of pain escaped his lips when the Druchii seized on the opening to stab into Wulfrik's unprotected left thigh. It took significant willpower on Wulfrik's part to not fall on the bad leg.

He lashed out like a wolf, swinging his sword out and leaving defense behind. The Druchii's eyes widened at the wild offense and continued to step back to gain distance. Deftly avoiding the iron slab of sharpened steel was not a good decision, and 'he' decided to go all out. At a heavy swing made by Wulfrik, the Druchii turned 'his' back to the blow so the hit the halberd instead. It didn't even look chipped from Wulfrik's sword.

The Druchii's left hand snapped to the shaft of the halberd, and in the show of just how strong 'he' really was releases the weapon from its holster. Twirling back to face the Wanderer, the Druchii slammed down the halberd down. Wulfrik put his shield up to defend himself, but was not expecting for the earth to be gouged out and himself flying off from the blow.

By the paraplegic sociopath that is Khorne, what kind of strength does this Druchii have?! It was like a Giant in the body of a Druchii!

His attention was forced back to the duel at hand to step out of the way of the black halberd, picking up snow and dirt on impact. The Druchii used that as a vantage to flip into the air right over Wulfrik where she slashed down the Challenger's back. Blood spilled on the ground as the grey blade cut through his armor to shred into his flesh. Pain shot through his entire body, but then turned into rage to pay it back tenfold.

But when Wulfrik turned around, he was instead met with a raging wall of Chillwinds, the coldest of blizzards only made possible through the Lore of Dark magic. This Druchii is also a magic user?! It was rare for a Druchii general of any kind to go into such fields. Case in point, it was how those such as Malekith the Witch King were famed in both the Old and New World in both proficiency of magic and skill with the blade. So how was this Druchii proficient in combat and magical lore not known until now? Just who was 'he'?

The duel continued on as steel struck steel, some so heavy and swift that sparks flew. Every swing of Wulfrik's sword was parried or deftly dodged like a snake and punished with a smash from the halberd. His shield was his only saving grace from that weapon. All around them, the main battle continued on. Trogg's monsters had failed in the assault as the shade riders returned to pelt them with crossbow bolts. His mammoths were brought down from their feet continually butchered from spear and halberd. His Marauders all but overwhelmed by the Witch Elves high on slaughter.

Wulfrik saw a chance at last when his opponent made a thrust aimed at his leg. He sidestepped the blow and locked down the halberd by stepping on it. He opened immediately from the momentary pause and swung down his sword. The Druchii's blade held back Wulfrik's, but the sudden attack left his opponent at a weak standing and it was easy for Wulfrik to push forward.

But it was not be as when Wulfrik decided to press more on his swordarm, the Druchii suddenly slipped down onto the ground. With agility befitting of the Witch Elves, she spun on the ground, letting go of her halberd, and stuck out a low kick to Wulfrik's weak knee. The Wanderer let out a grunt and faltered in his attack, allowing the Druchii to grab 'his' halberd, and swing out the halberd with such strength to stagger Wulfrik off his feet and give the Druchii general room. As soon as he got his bearings, there was a series of clicks and Wulfrik felt pain in his chest.

Coughing blood, Wulfrik looked down to see four bolts shot into his chest. Looking forward, he saw that the Druchii sheathed away the blade and had withdrawn a hand-held bolt repeater, ebony in color, to shoot. It was returned back to its hidden holster at 'his' waist and the general made his way to the kneeling Wulfrik.

The Wanderer refused to have it end like this. He _is _the strongest man on this world. No one is a match for _him. _Slowly, Wulfrik made his way on his feet, abandoning his shield to pluck out the _sticks _stabbed into him. His breath was akin to a growling wolf, ready to tear apart whoever was in his sights.

"Fool." Growled Wulfrik, taking his favored sword in both hands. "No man - can kill me!"

The Druchii decided to leave 'his' halberd on 'his' back to take 'his' own sword in both hands. This clash, this one final clash will decide it right here, right now. As is how the world works. Only the strongest will thrive. Wulfrik was not going to let him be out of that. He is the strongest. He is the one to thrive in this world. He will be one to be sung in ten thousand sagas till the world's end. He will be celebrated in his glory in the halls with his gods praising _him._

"I will see the halls of my gods!" Roared Wulfrik. "DIE!"

They both took off in a run, their blades held back for one final swing. Wulfrik's vision temporarily went white, and he swore he saw the grand halls of his gods. A clang steel sounded throughout the entire battlefield, louder than the rest. They didn't know why, but every fighter paused to look at the source. What they found determined the conclusion of the battlefield.

A soft thud landed beside two generals. It was the the three-quarters of Wulfrik's sword, shattered apart from the blade of the Druchii. The blade in question tore into Wulfrik's right shoulder like a knife through butter till it stopped at its chest area. Wulfrik's expression was almost blank with only the widening of his eyes. Blood poured from his mouth, but his eyes were locked on one detail. He didn't entirely get off without some damage dealt for his broken blade still continued and had stabbed into the Druchii's side. It was only a flesh wound if the blade hadn't shattered.

The Druchii released 'his' blade from Wulfrik, but even as the man was dealt a fatal wound who still stood proud. The Druchii went to fetch 'his' halberd and now stared up at Wulfrik, who only had a forlorn look in his eyes. Then for the first time, the Druchii spoke.

"You were right." The Druchii, 'his' tone surprisingly high-pitched and feminine. "No man did kill you."

Emotions returned to Wulfrik's face when the Druchii lifted the helmet off 'his' face. 'He' was in fact a she. A young woman of pale skin dusted pink with young features of round cheeks rich with life. Her hair free from the confines of the helm swept down her back like a waterfall of ebony dipped in blood. She was beautiful, leagues ahead of any damsel of humans and surpassing Asur maidens of Ulthuan. But the eyes were not innocent. The right, purple eye held sickening and cruel joy as the Druchii expressed in her wicked smile, and the red eye was unnatural even to Wulfrik's standards for he could feel the storm of mindless violence just barely being held back. That crimson eye with the pupil of a reptile was like looking at Khorne himself.

And then he saw it. Hidden at the nape of her neck was a mark burned into her neck. A crest of eight arrows under the insignia of Khorne.

This female Druchii was blessed by Khorne himself. He could laugh dryly if he wasn't so weak. So all this time and this entire battle was all but him being a plaything for the gods. Indeed, his gods were awfully cruel.

"But I am no man." The Druchii general, also known as Allisara, daughter of Malekith, spoke sweetly like the hiss of a snake.

She thrusted her halberd into Wulfrik's chest, fully impaling him through the back. Bone, guts, and blood spilled out the other side, and the life in Wulfrik's eyes left him. With strength granted to her by both war gods, Allisara lifted the polearm with the now Eternal Skewer with one arm into the air for all to see. An evil smile of bliss etched across Allisara's face as the blood rained down upon her, coating her skin in a sheen of the crimson liquid she loved so much to bathe in.

The effect was instant as the Norsca lost all hope seeing their leader, the mightiest of the Norsca, brutalized and skewered like a pig. Most immediately dropped their weapons in surrender, in which they will be detained to either be made slaves or sacrifices for her and the Witch Elves' Cauldron of Blood. Those that tried to run away... they were made free food for the Cold Ones.

Meanwhile, her precious dragon, Fafnir, had pinned down the Cold-Voider into submission, yet it don't go for the kill. By the openly primal lust in her dragon's eye, Allisara knew exactly why. It would seem the famed Cold-Voider was in fact female, and Fafnir was indeed horny for a new mate. Hopefully the Cold-Voider lives up to her strength and survives. Fafnir had a habit of breaking his mates, and it would be a shame for such a strong dragon that gave him such a good fight to go to waste.

The frozen north of the Old World was hers, and the Naggaronds. It would serve as an expansion of territory for the empire Allisara dreamed of. The chaotic lands will obey her will to not harm the Druchii. From here, the armies will rain down on the pitiful empires of the mortals. For this world belonged to those that have proven themselves to dominate all, and she will see the whole world submit their lives to the Druchii. The Asur can have their precious Ulthuan, and the Phoenix Throne was her father's right. For she cared, Allisara would rather have the Asur burn for betraying his father and his right as king.

She'd rather have a whole world. That amusing it was that she wold receive her desire in a way she would never imagine.

* * *

**This took a fuck ass long time. Did I make it gory enough because I honestly tried my best? So in this, Allisara (Ruby) wields a repeater crossbow, a sword named Extinction, and a naginate with a daito-style tip for a polearm. This was to show Allisara's strength as an individual and the strength of her own army. I had her go up against Wulfrik because he is one of my favorite lords of the Warhammer world, and I thought it'd be cool to give him this fight. For her next conquest, Bretonnia will burn to the ground, and she'll find some new allies in the Vampire Counts to combat the Empire. Until then, she is going to have a new special mission of dear father.**

**Let me know of some other people murder Ruby can go brutalize.**

**Up next is Chapter 4: A World for Myself**

**Stay in touch. Please, _please _leave a review.**


	4. A World for Myself

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of this. Please support the official release.**

**Chapter 4: A World for Myself**

A blissful sigh left Allisara's lips as she sank in the bath of blood in her personal Cauldron of Blood. The steam that rose around her colored crimson and her pale skin was dyed a shimmering red from the blood that coated her. She always carried her Cauldron of Blood with her Shrine to Khaine as per her grandmother's orders. In fact, Allisara is the only person that Morathi has told the secrets of the ritual. Not that Allisara actually needed it, but she found an odd addiction of relaxing in a tub of hot blood.

This particular batch came from the recent captors of the Norsca. Children were the first to go around for what use was weak little slaves. The men were more a fifty-fifty, more so for Norscan warriors that were tough enough to survive the life of slaved labor. Women were the most spared, but only because they can be used for... other services. As much as Allisara disciplined her army, there was only so much she could beat down. But, alas, Druchii men will be the lecherous bastards they are. Exceptions were Father consideringnhis responsibility and condition.

When it came to the matter of men, Allisara was openly dismissive. When she wanted the pleasure of skin, Allisara never went for men. Any advances done on her by nobles for marriage and want not would find themselves with their heads on a pike in front of her palace in Naggarond. Malekith actually had to make it a law that such contracts go through him directly, but Ruby knew that Father will deny every single one. She goes as far as cutting their genitalia before they were sacrificed into her Cauldron of Blood. Seras was always a free fuck ever since she was brought into the Witch Elves eight years ago. The pair had a more than mutual friendship by Druchii standards. Friends in Druchii society meant 'I won't stab your back, and I won't stab yours'.

Allisara and Seras were more on the lines of a master-servant relationship without the mind break and the benefit of pleasure for the both of them. She will admit that former detail goes a little loose because Seras sure does love to go wild, and Allisara certainly wasn't going to complain. A weak-willed servant was boring, but one like Seras with the right balance of loyalty and fire of will... it was enough to send blissful shivers through Allisara remembering the night they kept each other warm.

Oh great, now she really needed that fuck, but she was forbidden by Morathi to let anyone share her Cauldron bath. With a sigh, Allisara walked to center of the blood bath and began to properly clean herself. She held her by the base of her skull and dipped her head into the warm liquid. When she receded back to the surface, her face was drenched in the mystical blood, and her hair was stuck in a crimson sheen. Allisara did not have to worry about any diseases from the sacrifices thanks to the runes in the Cauldron that powered the ritual.

Allisara finished her ritual bathing in the blood and proceeded to simply relax on the edge of the Cauldron. Her eyes went up to the ceiling that was once the small manor of Wulfrik the Wanderer. The rugged wood that was the palpable material of the Norsca was already being replaced by Druchii architecture, but only so much can happen in a week. As soon as the slaves can set to work in mining and construction, Allisara will have to deal with the vulgar shelter the Norsca consider homes. She was going to turn this very manor into her own palace with a black tower to leer upon the lands to the south.

An hour later, Allisara exited the Cauldron and, regrettably, washed the blood away in a nearby rinsing pool she had set up nearby. She was at least thankful to Wulfrik having a decently sized bathing room with a high ceiling and a large pool. The smell, however, was an annoyance.

Fucking Norscans. Fucking barbarians. Fucking humans. Fucking hairless apes that dare call themselves sentient beings when they couldn't have the decency to clean themselves of their filth. Lower mongrels that dare to defy the Druchii, their obvious superiors in this cruel game of life.

Allisara took in a deep breath to calm her nerves. That was the elf talking, but there was no need to throw a temper tantrum over a ridiculous reason. The humans will get what they deserve. In her mind it involved being stools for Allisara to step on when she makes her way through the streets. She really needed Seras here to have a fuck for stress relief.

As she stepped out of the pool, Allisara took a moment to see her whole nude body in the reflection. Truly, she was a beauty of the world, much like Grandmother who still was the obsession of most men of the whole world. Pale skin smooth and without fault like ivory in the light of the moon made for a sensual sight enough to make men shiver if they even saw her without her armor. In full nude, Allisara was sure that any mortal man was wrapped in her finger.

Allisara stood at a total height of 6 feet, beginning with toned legs lengthened what seemed a league for a pleasing sight, and the muscle twitched ever so slightly underneath ready to crush even stone if she wanted to. She was largely fit with abs of muscle on her flat stomach, and her arms were built for a warrior princess like herself. One who constantly wields wall-smashing weaponry to be precise. To top it off were her sizable assets of a supple D-cup.

But the Witch Princess was not without her scars. Noticeable ones appeared as darker shades on her body. There was only one visible on her front going down from the right nape of her neck to the top of her chest. A new recent one was where Wulfrik struck his broken blade in her side, but it was hard to actually look for it since it never went too deep. But most of the scarring was on Allisara's back consisting of random lines of dark grey scratched across as though her back was a pale canvas. These were done in her youth whenever she got to uppity with her father. Such cases included attacking servants in a rage, using magic without permission, or even defying her father with heated words.

She loved her father, that Allisara knew to heart for he was the one to raise her and make her strong, but there were times where cruel discipline needed to be done. Her eyes momentarily flinched remembering the cracks of the sharp whips tearing into her back without mercy. Each time she cried out in apology, but each time Malekith ignored her plight. Never could Allisara know what he expressed behind his mask. Was it disappointment? Wrath? Or maybe even sorrow to strike his own blood? For whatever else, Malekith never said a word during those punishments, and that silence from her father tore at Allisara's soul. It was not the pain that terrified Allisara, but it was the simple fact of Malekith never acknowledging who he was torturing in those punishments.

Never again did Malekith need to punish Allisara for the same reason, nor did he have to make the punishment more severe. He could have locked her in a room, naked, secluded from the light, and all for a week without food. If Allisara ever thought she made the same mistake, she would gladly punish herself by cutting her back with a knife.

Never will she ever displease Father. Her father was everything to her and is the sole reason that Allisara even existed in the first place. For simply bringing her into this world and nurturing her, Allisara automatically owed everything to Malekith. He could've simply thrown her away when she was babe, but chose to raise her into one of the finest generals of Naggarond.

However, Allisara was not without some wandering thoughts. They would always come to the same question.

_Does Dad love me as a daughter?_

She hated that question. She hated it for the feelings of trepidation that it brought up. What did it matter as long as Allisara made her father proud, and prove herself victorious against their enemies? What did it matter as long as she doesn't fail?

It doesn't matter... right?

Allisara violently shook her head to rid the train of thought. She didn't have time for this nonsense. Gathering her clothes, Allisara quickly dressed herself in her royal casual robes, black and purple in color with window to peak at the top of her chest and a little slit in the flowing lower garments to peak at her pale legs. Finally, Allisara put her tiara back on her head, but left her hair free flowing as usual.

She walked out of the bath hall barefoot not making a sound as they stepped across the wooden planks of the manor. The Druchii princess walked through halls of ornaments earned from Wulfrik's deeds. These included a scale of the Cold-Voider, a tusk of an alpha mammoth, and the claws of a dragon ogre. Yet, the man himself was not alive anymore to revel in his glory. That fell to his killer, who in turn proved to be the natural superior.

Allisara found herself in the makeshift throne room. She called it a makeshift for it used a hall to host feasts where Wulfrik would sit upon a lavish chair, by Norscan standards, on a raised platform to look over his subjects. Since her conquest of Icedrake Fjord, Allisara started renovations to make it more of her tastes. Black marble tiles dotted the wooden floor in a path from the entrance, flanked by black iron torches burning dark fires, powerful enough to keep the hall warm from the dreaded cold outside. The path led to a flight of stairs of black stone all the way to a throne make of black iron and the fairest of cushions. The armrests were engraved to resemble the arms of Khaine, her patron god, and his head was sculpted perfectly from iron to fit on the top with eyes of dark crystals that seemed to leer at any who dare to look at Khaine.

A good throne if Allisara would say so herself. Not as grand as the halls of Naggarond, but it was enough to fill the Witch Princess of the euphoria of power. More so that she earned that power in this whole conquest supported by most of the clans, including Father, Morathi, Lokhir Fellheart, Hellebron, and many others. She deserved the spoils she reaped.

Her eyes drifted across the hall till they lingered near the entrance. There on a table sat the broken blade of Wulfrik, the Sword of Torvald. Allisara didn't understand why, but whatever famed general she slew she had the irresistible notion to collect their weapons. It was always some annoying yet instinctive pang wired into her mind to take them, whether as trophies or something else. No matter what, Allisara could not bring herself to let them go because it felt like throwing away something inexplicably interesting. Like the times Grandmother was the cusp of a breakthrough in her magical research, her mind and soul refused to part with her collection.

The question was how to properly showcase them for collecting them.

Allisara stood still for a moment, making herself bask in the atmosphere permeating with the dark arts. She breathed in the malignant air tainted by the purple torches, suffusing into her every being to bring her to a high only sorceresses such as herself can achieve. To slowly let the Winds of Magic into her body and lungs, yet never allowing to direct its flow. Here the room was thick with the Winds of Dark, the magic of the Druchii. The air here was much, much better than the mundane cold outside this hall.

Over the thousands of years, Druchii have developed a natural affinity to survive the cold. Their pale skin that almost lacked life was a sure example. That didn't mean that any of them liked it. In fact, Druchii hated the cold more than most races. They used to belong on a warm paradise until the _usurpers _ruined everything. Not only did they force Father from his rightful place as the next Phoenix King, the thieves banished them from the island they called home. Allisara's people, Malekith's peaple, the rightful people, were left to suffer in this cold hell, but they endured so they may take vengeance on the Asur, even if it means sinking Ulthuan to the depths.

Those so-called _rightful_ heirs of Aenarion. Feh, how the Witch Princess wished that last _liar _was still alive so she could have the chance to personally rip his head off. Her father poisoning Bel Shannar the Coward was too much of a mercy for the crimes of betraying Malekith's trust when he wasn't of the same blood. Then out of nowhere are the damned twins Tyrion and Teclis, the self-proclaimed heirs of Aenarion. How dare they! All the bastards were doing was barring the throne from its rightful owner, Malekith, not some pretenders.

She will make sure her father becomes the Phoenix King that he was meant to be. If not, Allisara will make it sink into the ocean so the Asur never dirty the legacy of her grandfather.

_'I wonder what it would have been like to meet Grandfather.' _Allisara thought. _'Maybe I can ask Dad when I see him again.'_

"So, are you just going to hold yourself in here?" Spoke a feminine voice of maturity laced heavily with sexuality to make mortal men squirm, which is the per usual of most female Druchii.

Allisara turned her head to the side at the base of the stairs where she saw two of the only people she could honestly call friends in Druchii society. One was of course, Seras, Allisara's first friend. Ever since releasing Seras from her slavery, she joined Naggarond's Witch Elves. It was no surprise to Allisara that she quickly ascended through the cult to become a deadly Death Hag. That glint of murder Allisara saw was the sole reason that Seras became such a devoted killer of Khaine that she even had recognition from Hellebron the old hag herself. The once half-breed slave that she picked up from that meeting all the years grew up to be the best fighter in Allisara's army, a famed Death Hag among Witch Elves, and a close comrade Allisara knew she could rely on.

Of course, there was also the sex. Must not forget the wild sex they've been having ever since their ages of twelve, and only getting better as they grew up into more fuller bodies. Seras especially for a Witch Elf had a blessed beauty. Her blonde hair granted to Seras from her Asur heritage always seemed to have its own golden ethereal glow to it even in the midst of a flood of blood, and swept down her back in mane of lustrous gold to make even Dwarves grumble in envy. Also very useful to hold onto while keeping each other warm at night since it was so irresistibly soft as much as her unblemished white skin kissed pink to have more life in it than usual the pale complexion. As a Death Hag, she left everything for Allisara to drink into the sight. For example the armored bra that only covered Seras' sizable chest and shoulders covered in pauldrons left everything else of the Death Hag's top half completely exposed. She only had a purple loincloth embroidered in her own strands of hair for 'pants', leaving pale, strong legs visible to Allisara. Sheathed perpendicular on Seras' back were her favored twin swords only as long as her arm.

Allisara shamelessly licked her lips at the body of her best friend before turning to the Druchii woman who spoke. Her name was Cissovi, one of the two magic casters in Allisara's army wearing the usual garb of the sorceresses and another of the rare few she called friend. Her skin was much like Seras' carrying a much more noticeable pink shade to it, but her long hair was a midnight black to show she was full-blooded Druchii. Black armor lined her shoulders up to her neck and golden bra covered her C-cup breasts. Finally, a loincloth as usual covered her 'modesty' from the public eye and her feet were hidden in standard armored boots. The Witch Princess liked Cissovi's black eyes that seemed that everything she gazed was burning.

Cissovi's specialty as a sorceress in Allisara's army is her raw talent in the Lore of Fire, indicated by her black iron staff that had a constant orange blaze burning. Talent and a maniacal turn on to see everything burn in her sight. She was a natural-born pyromaniac that cackled from her black pegasus mount in the air while Cissovi made her mission for fire to engulf whatever was in her vision. Allisara even heard Cissovi mumble in her sleep dreaming of the world literally on fire. And yes, Cissovi was also a blaze in bed as well. The stuff that the sorceress could do lacing fire magic on the tip of her fingers almost made Allisara purr in arousal.

But back to matters at hand which is replying back to Cissovi. "What's the point anyway? It's warmer in here."

"But filthy." Cissovi hissed, wishing to burn every piece of creaky wood in her sight.

"Can you say different for any part of the settlement?" Allisara countered.

"... Point taken." Cissovi relented. "Good riddance to these Norscan savages. They all belong in the shit hold with every slave in Naggarond."

"True that." Allisara nodded. "Going passed the small talk, what news do you bring to me as of late?"

"Besides your dragon having fun with his new mate." Seras spoke up, getting certain looks from Allisara and Cissovi. "What? You can walk out there and you can hear the pair's roars wherever you go."

Cissovi sighed. "Of course that would be the only thing that is relevant to you, Death Hag. It's always with your head in the gutter."

The blonde half-breed leveled a slight glare at the fire sorceress. "That is because true pleasure is in the flesh. Both on the battlefield with the warmth of your killings blood on your skin, or in bed when exploring each other."

Cissovi scoffed. "True pleasure is seeing the beauty of flames ever so hungry in all its true glory. And that is burning it all sees to ashes. There is no better sight."

Ruby sighed in exasperation. This was a constant feud between Cissovi and Seras. They would constantly argue on what was the best beauty of pleasure. The arguments would eventually become dangerously heated in the literal sense as their tempers flared. If Allisara wasn't there to break them up, Either Seras will throw or Cissovi chucks a fireball... or they go into some very angry sex to amend. At heart, the pair were friends as well.

Perhaps Allisara will hope for the best and jump in to make a threesome. That would be... exhilarating. Unfortunately, duty come before pleasure.

"Enough, you two." Allisara's voice was sharp enough to cut through steel and Seras and Cissovi stopped their bickering. "Forget this trivial nonsense for now. I understand you have an update of our occupation on the settlement."

"...Yes." Cissovi said, trying and failing to keep in her nervousness from her tone. "We, uh... We lost Trogg."

As soon as those words came out of the sorceress' mouth, her fears were made real. Allisara's entire motions went entirely stiff, not even the robes she was wearing shifting. Her eyelids refused to blink and the pupils glowed with power fueled by outrage. A pressure descended on the entire hall as the Witch Princess unleashed the immeasurable magical might she held inside her body. Seras and Cissovi fell to the ground unable to stand the pressure, and the wood of the entire Norscan manor groaned in danger of being torn apart.

That wasn't worst of it for the sorceress and the Death Hag. The truly most horrifying sight was the transformation that was happening on their master and friend. Without having her emotions in check, Allisara's magic over Chaos was running rampant. As a result, her left arm began to contort and change before their eyes. Flesh writhed into hardened scales of dark red and bone protrusions colored black poked from her wrists and elbow. Claws replaced her fingernails and veins bulged all over the limb and glowed an eerie purple that ran up to Allisara's left eye. They feared and hated this mutation that happened for a grotesque appearance on Allisara was not what they wanted to see on their friend.

"WHAT!?" Allisara outraged, her power growing to heights that made the metal around them creak. "HOW IS IT THAT DESPITE THE THOUSANDS OF PAIRS OF EYES WE HAVE UPON THIS LAND, NONE OF US CAN SPOT A GIANT TROLL MEANDERING ABOUT!? HOW CAN YOU LOSE SUCH A TARGET!? I WANT ANSWERS, NOW!"

No, Allisara can't accept this. This was supposed to be a total victory, yet Khaine deemed to bite back and allow a high-priority target to escape the battle. Inexcusable. Unacceptable!

"We... We did have the troll on pursuit, my Lady." Groaned Cissovi, using the honorific to get on Allisara's good side. "We sent a whole detachment... to capture him but... none of them made it back... We at least sus- know... Trogg fled to the East. He... had nowhere else... to run. As soon as he is sighted again... his head will be brought back."

Allisara's breathing was akin to a growl of a dragon with a steam an Imperial locomotive tank. Her lips were pulled back in a snarl, revealing that some of her teeth have sharpened considerably. Her red eye thinned more to assume the pupil of a dragon as it glared at Cissovi, making her shake from the raw violence and bloodlust being held back in the orb. Her purple eye darkened to an abyss, piercing through their souls like a writhing parasite.

Whatever prayers they had were not needed. Eventually, Allisara's breathing simmered down and her emotions calmed to a controllable level. Her magical power was held back to relieve the pressure in the air, and the mutations on her limb went back to normal.

"This is... unfortunate." Allisara said in a flat tone that showed her displeasure. "Make it a priority that when Trogg is seen again, he is to be killed on sight... What else do you have for me lest I do something unsavory in my 'surprise'?"

"Lord Malekith has ordered your to back to the city of Naggarond in the coming week." Cissovi informed.

"D-Dad- er, Father wants me home!?" Allisara squeaked, her eyes going comically wide.

Cissovi and Seras had to put in effort to not giggle at the reaction from their master. Over the years the pair learned that Allisara's devotion to Malekith is one of a daughter obeying her father. She puts her heart and soul to make sure her father is happy. Allisara is a Druchii, but it cant be forgotten that she is still a young girl at heart, as twisted as it is. According to human terms, Allisara was a definite 'Daddy's girl'.

Allisara coughed in her hand to regain her composure. "Elaborate for me."

Cissovi nodded. "Lord Malekith that you and your personal forces board your Black Ark and set sail to the city of Naggarond for a special assignment as he has termed."

Allisara was trying her hardest not to shake in excitement. Dad was calling her home but not for some punishment of a mistake she overlooked, but because of a special assignment. A quick change of plans was run finalized when she glanced back at Seras and Cissovi.

"Seras, inform Noghes she in charge of the campaign." Allisara ordered. "Inform Admiral Dawnfall that he is in charge to garrison the Fjord and begin the projects on a suitable wall and dragon hatchery."

"Of course." Seras replied, dashing away to deliver the orders.

"Cissovi," Allisara spoke to the sorceress, "have our troops pull out and board the _Khaine's Dream. _We set sail tomorrow."

* * *

(A Week Later; Naggarond)

Black Arks, the mightiest ships to roam the waters of the world. To call it a ship was not enough. They were floating cities, able to sustain a military community of tens of thousands aboard. Dark magics made them sail across the endless depths at speeds to match any fleet, and power to crush them like pebbles. In the deepest levels housed the Druchii's personal slaves for work, sacrifice, or pleasure. Like any city of the Druchii, a Black Ark was rife with sin.

(Lime Warning)

"Ku-ku-ku, feisty as always, Seras."

"Even against you, I always make it a challenge."

For Allisara, she didn't need a slave to have the pleasure of flesh. Seras was more than happy to indulge such as now. Upon the highest tower erected on the Black Ark were Allisara's personal quarters. No one but she and her close compatriots were allowed to enter into the home of the Witch Princess.

The more apparent at the moment was the bedroom chamber. Two walls on opposite sides were open to view the outside. The floor was covered in a softly-woven carpet fit for royalty, and against one wall was a dressing table with a mirror and showcasing an array of ornamental jars carved with demonic faces. Most of the room was taken up by the bed with a dark wood frame and a canopy of black silk. Under the purple blankets rummaged the two Druchii, Allisara and Seras, in one of their many times of pleasure.

Armor and cloth were put aside for the free exploration of the other's body. Erotic pale skin free to see was only held away from sight by the covers that Allisara and Seras laid under. Allisara laid on top upon an equally nude Seras, her face almost crushing upon the lips of the Death Hag while her arms explored wildly over Seras' smooth skin painted with blood, trying to find some sensitive spot to painfully attack. As Allisara forced her tongue to violate Seras' mouth as she can, but the Death Hag fought back with pleasurable fervor with her own hands roughly scratching on her master's back knowing there were some rather sensitive spots to exploit. The resistance on both sides to overpower the other was the real pleasure in all of this.

A muffled moan from Seras sounded off when Allisara decided to roughly pull on the Death Hag's golden locks. A smirk made its way on the Witch Princess' face knowing she made a crucial opening and 'attacked' to press the advantage. Faster than Seras could react, Allisara broke the kiss and teeth bit on the point of Seras' right ear. Pain shot up through Seras once she felt Allisara bite harshly on the tip of the ear to draw blood and pulling back on it, but the pain let out a loud moan from the blonde and her back arched slightly.

Allisara was not one for mercy and trailed down from the ear biting harshly and licking as she went on the sensitive skin. The more downward she went, the more pleasure shot through Seras numbing her senses and her blue eyes rolled back. It was too much for Seras once Allisara bit down like a hungry animal for flesh upon the spot between the neck and the right shoulder. A scream left Seras throat as she reached her climax, and Allisara smirked in victory.

"My win this time, Seras." Allisara chuckled laying on one elbow to the side, drinking in the sight of her nude servant desperate for air and sweat covering her body.

(End Lime)

Seras panted. "Are... you... sure... you're... not... a vam... pire somehow?"

Allisara laughed in amusement. "Of course not. It's just that your skin is too irresistible to not bite at it. It is always so soft and supple."

"That... does... not fill me... with confidence." Seras struggled in her words trying to get her breath back.

In comparison, this latest session was tame. Allisara and Seras would normally try to bite and claw everywhere like rabid animals to fuel the sensation of pain. Seras or Allisara would have been screaming their hearts out, but that was not the time for that. Without a word, Allisara pulled herself out of bed, standing on the carpet of her bed chamber in full nude.

A deft wave of her hand and the clothes scattered about the room answered her call. First were her usual robes that magically wrapped around her figure. Then around the room, several plates of metal resembling scales floated up. One by one, they snapped upon Allisara's form like building blocks. Interlocking links underneath each scale of metal made sure to connect to each other, giving the underside a layer of silver mesh. She held up her legs one by one for several scales to snap on the limbs to make her boots. The helmet was a separate piece that Allisara simply put aside on her waist. In just a minute, the Witch Princess was fully armored.

"You still have to... teach me how to do that." Seras said with a hint of jealousy.

Allisara walked from the port through the streets of Naggarond all the way to the central palace with Seras always at her side. As always it was dreadfully cold, and snow was falling at a constant medium. It was only because of the dark fire torches that dotted the city that kept leagues of snow piling on the land. Everywhere Allisara went, the Druchii glanced at her in recognition with heads bowed down in submission. The Witch Princess did not care for them for they did not matter.

What mattered was the entrance into the palace where on the other side her father awaited. Her walk to the iron doors was one with both grace and discipline. The guards merely had to look at her before opening the doors of the palace of the Witch King. The only home Allisara knew in her life.

The walk through the many halls of the palace was but a blur for Allisara. Her sense of the world became normal when she found herself in a chamber with a dome ceiling. In the center was a strange alter on three-layered stand. An oval-shaped circlet of twisted iron stood up straight as tall as her, surrounded with sigils and runes she had no idea existed.

Heavy foosteps of metal snapped Allisara's eyes to the source and locked on the man that was her father. Malekith was imposing as ever in a body of black iron that fit his form, and green eyes that pierced into one's very being. His faceplate was expressionless, only settled into an eternal snarl of wrath.

Instantly, Allisara and Seras went on their knees before the Witch King, the King of all Druchii and the true heir of Aenarion. There was no fear in Allisara's eyes, but the adoration she held for her father was barely held back. She dared not to do anything until her father spoke first.

"On your feet." Malekith ordered, and the pair of Druchii females did so and the eyes of Malekith glanced to Allisara. "Daughter."

"Father." Greeted Allisara.

When Malekith ever greets Allisara as such, it was an unspoken permission to call him as Father. That alone made happiness swell in the Druchii's black heart. The silence from Malekith was also a sign for her to speak freely.

"I've returned home on your summons, Father." Allisara said, careful with her tone. "What is it that you have need of me?"

"The highest and most dangerous of undertakings, Allisara." The voice came from behind them, but Allisara didn't need to glance who it was.

Approaching them into the domed room was Morathi, the Supreme Sorceress of the Druchii. As beautiful as Seras and Allisara are, Morathi still surpassed as she wore nothing but a bra and loincloth. In her hands was her favored staff brimming with chaotic and dark powers. The devil's smirk was present and unbreakable on Morathi's pretty face.

"Tell me," Morathi said, "why should we settle on one world and we can take many?"

"What?" Sputtered Allisara in confusion and disbelief at the concept. As far she knew, there was only this one world. "I-I don't understand."

Allisara's response produced a laugh from Morathi. "Oh, little one, you have so much to look forward to. Do you really think the gods have stopped on creating one world? The answer is simply no. Years ago, when you were born, an expedition was made to explore the Realms of Chaos and discover its secrets. What we found instead was beyond our wildest dreams. Whole different worlds of the makes of different gods, ripe for the taking. Ripe for the Druchii race to expand and to rightfully take its place as the dominant race among them all."

The realization dawned on Allisara and a disturbing grin split her face. More worlds to invade could only mean a limitless conquest! She could imagine it. Unsuspecting worlds that knew only their just lives to suddenly fall under the boot of the Druchii. The might of the Druchii can become endless with access of resources of entire worlds at their fingertips. The destruction she could wage in the name of Khaine - she could practically smell the fires Cissovi would unleash for her dream of a burning world and she could hear the sweet screams of pain and misery of entire civilizations. All for oceans of blood to then spill and bathe in for Allisara's pleasure.

"We already have a world in our sights of this new conquest." Morathi continued with glee in her eyes. "Allisara, what do you say of having a whole world to yourself?"

"You mean..." Gasped Allisara as her mind sped up. "Is that why you brought my army and Black Ark here?"

"I weighed heavy consideration on this, Allisara." The cold voice of Malekith pierced through the room. "Generals older than you that have seen eons of war have come to mind, but I find only you are worthy of this task. Young you may be, but you have proven that the blood of Aenarion burns bright within you. In mere months, you've toppled an entire race and beaten foes most would have fallen to. You've brought worthy name to the Druchii race as a whole."

"Th-Thank you, Father." Allisara praised. "Is this what the alter is for? To travel between worlds?"

Morathi nodded. "The alter's purpose is to tear a hole through the Realm of Chaos to the world we've specified. It can act as a direct portal for singular transportation, but once it is installed on your Black Ark your whole army can be transported there.

"However, we are giving you a rare mercy of a choice here." Morathi said softly, laying a hand on Allisara's shoulder. "You can choose to deny this conquest and continue your campaign since it has received great success. We will not think down on you for it."

"No!" Allisara exclaimed in a near scream. "I accept! I agree to this! I will set out on this new horizon of conquest, and I shall have the whole world kneeling in the might of the Druchii, and in your name, Father! I swear it!"

"Excellent." Morathi replied with a smirk. "That is all Malekith needs to hear. Go ahead and rest for the day, Allisara. You have much ahead of you."

Allisara sprinted off like a spring, appearing only as a blur from the speed she ran. Seras' eyes widened in concern and chased after her friend to make sure she doesn't do anything reckless. In a far off corner of the palace that served as Allisara's bedchambers, the Druchii princess all but jumped on a pillow face first and was squealing in euphoria and joy.

"You are awfully quiet, my son." Morathi noted.

"It is nothing." Growled Malekith, but his tone seemed... off.

That change in tone was so unlike Malekith, and Morathi's smile quivered. She knew his son more than anyone would on this world, and she knew every part of his being. Morathi did not notice it, but until now she noticed that Malekith, and on some part herself as well, was complacent with the child they kidnapped. The one human girl somehow wormed into their everyday lives. Whereas Morathi was sure at the task at hand originally to use the child, Malekith was... off on some points.

"Does it bother you that you are potentially sending Allisara to her death?" Morathi inquired.

"... It... does not matter." Malekith answerd, but his fists tightened at his sides as his internal emotions raged within him.

Before Morathi could press on, Malekith walked away at a brisk pace. His hand was only slightly angled towards the floor. The rage that ever so projected from his eyes was dimmed. Conflicting thoughts raged in his mind, and emotions forgotten were taking root. It all stemmed to Allisara, the girl he kidnapped. The girl he raised as his own flesh and blood. The Druchii that does have his blood. The girl he could not see any less of a daughter of a proud father.

* * *

**Chapter done. I got nothing else to fucking say. The ending for this was difficult to write, so I hope it is okay. This was also my first lime, and I am hoping that this does not get taken down.**

**Up next is Chapter 5: The Empire of Remnant**

**Stay in touch. Please, _please _leave a review.**


	5. To Make Dad Proud

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of this. Please support the official release.**

**Chapter 5: To Make Dad Proud**

(One Month Later)

It wasn't easy finding an outpost to set a foothold in the new world. The literal new world, a whole expanse of reality all for the Druchii's taking. No one native here were or ever will be aware of their presence, and there was no pesky Asur to interfere. This limitless wealth she stood upon was all for the glory of the Druchii alone. Allisara kept her nerves hard as steel and her wits sharp the entire time while initially everyone was freaking out when her fleet of Black Arks was suddenly transported from the docks of Naggarond to new waters.

Morathi's shrine was equipped onto her personal ship, which was then activated with the death of over 3,000 slaves to appease both Khaine and Khorne to give their power to the ritual. There would be no need to do another sacrifice as the shrine became a two-way portal but only enough for a full army to march through over the course of a whole day via another shrine resting within the city of Naggarond. Allisara wasn't going to be getting her allies on this on a whim with Black Arks. Father gave her permission to request more forces only when necessary, but Allisara wanted to avoid that as much as possible. Above all things, Allisara never wanted to be a bother to Father.

But right before going on this new frontier, Allisara had done something totally unprecedented in her life. She was thankful that it was done without any others to notice, but it still filled the dark elf with self-loathing and embarrassment. By Khaine, why did she have to be so stupid at that moment?!

* * *

(Flashback)

Allisara's captain were barking out orders from across the Black Ark, calling all her forces for departure soon. The Witch Princess of the Druchii felt so small standing on the dock, but not because of the floating city set on the water so close to her. No, it was because of the most daunting mission ever thrusted upon her by her king and father. This was a task that will make the Druchii superior for eternity if - no, _when _done right, and she alone was responsible for its success. Failure was not an option, especially since it was her father that trusted her with this.

She had put on a mask of neutrality, but hidden beneath her composure Allisara was shaking. It felt as if the future of the Druchii, one of glory to surpass all other civilization, was hefted on her shoulders. Her breath felt it was crushed out of her lungs, and her feet felt numb on the dark stone floor of the dock. It was amazing that with her nerves betraying she didn't lose her balance or faint from the pressure of all this. Her senses were almost null stuck in Allisara's inner turmoil of thinking up a thousand backup plans to further increase the success of the future.

So numb was she that the Witch Princess never heard the heavy footsteps of metal feet marching on the dark wood. Never felt the cold gaze of Malekith the Witch-King. Only did Allisara feel the prickle of the coldest winds of Malekith's breath on her neck did she tense up in alarm. Her complexion paled from her already white skin realizing her mistake of not noticing her father to acknowledge his presence.

_'Oh fuck me sideways.' _Allisara thought morbidly.

"Allisara," Grated the voice of Malekith like sharpening steel, "I do believe that you standing here is in some form efficient. That or... you are distracted somehow."

When Malekith trailed off, Allisara had to bite off gulping in fear. She stretched out her magical senses, feeling the endless cold void of power that was Malekith and the incredible magical prowess of Morathi standing behind the Druchii king. There was no doubt a smug smile on her grandmother's face watching the scene unfold. Clenching her jaw from wavering, Allisara answered back in the most neutral tone she could make.

"I am fine." Allisara said, if only slightly sharply. "I am just... thinking carefully on the future ahead of me."

"Is that so?" Malekith commented condescendingly. "To me, it looks to be more than some thinking. I know you too well, Allisara. You rarely succumb to these trivial distractions."

_'Not since your younger years.' _An afterthought brushed through Malekith's mind.

Memories of a small Druchii child running around in the dark palace suddenly came to mind. A snarl rose from his throat as he remembered Allisara on the house always too fascinated in the arts of the sword and the teachings of magic. All offset by the fact she had so much energy within her to sit still in her studies; to rather take action than sit and wait. Despite raised to be sadistic and brutal as any other Druchii, she was a child nonetheless of childish glee, and such memories of those times brought a barely noticeable warmth that appealed to the remnants of Malekith that was once the honorable son of Aenarion. Malekith never realized just how raising Allisara brought that persona out again, if only in glimpses of pride in _his _daughter.

Allisara could not stop the flinch as she heard the click of Malekith's boots coming closer to her. She dared not turn around, too afraid of whatever fury her father was bearing down on her. Her hand twitched, instinctively wanting to protect her back that had history of harsh lashes that scarred her pale skin. In her weakness, Allisara shut her eyes in anxiety of the coming blow.

Such thoughts of physical punishment were for not when instead Allisara felt cold, metal fingers gently holding on her shoulder. The Witch Princess' eyes snapped open in shock at the gesture that oddly enough comforted her from her fears. She knew this on an instinctual level that this was a gesture of a parent to ease the feelings of his offspring. Mismatched purple and red eyes stared back at eyes visible through Malekith's face plate, but that usual cold gaze had softened the barest amounts. A rarity that Allisara had ever seen only several times in her youth, and it made her heart warmth with so renewed strength. Any amount of hate from Malekith that was quelled for his daughter was still a significant amount.

Dare she say it made her feel 'human' in some convoluted way of parental to offspring love.

"Do not feel shame on this." Malekith said, his grating voice of the cold struggling to sound smooth. "You are my daughter and a good general, but in human terms you are still in your younger years. It is a grand achievement in of itself that you stand as an equal among peers who have led armies for centuries. The vast knowledge and power I have granted as my daughter, Allisara, can only be tempered by experience. As I have learned myself."

"How can you say that, Father?" Allisara blurted, too late to catch her words. "You are so strong, and I don't believe that you could ever be weak."

Malekith made a sound that was a mix between a chuckle and a growl. "Those who believe they are born almighty are the arrogant fools that die the quickest. We are never born strong, Allisara. Even as we kin of Aenarion hold vast potential, true strength can only be brought out through growth and refined through life. I... am no exception to that rule as eons ago I was a little boy who couldn't hold a sword."

Morathi watched the exchange between her son and granddaughter with narrowed eyes with a hint of curiosity. Never did Morathi believe Malekith now would ever say these words that would paint him a weakling at a certain light. She can admit there was truth in those words, but she only ever expected to hear that type of wisdom from the days before the splitting of the Asur or from Aenarion himself.

_'Allisara, __you are bringing out something from Malekith.' _Morathi thought. _'Something I never thought to see in so long, and I don't know how to feel about that.'_

Many Druchii would see Malekith advising Allisara on this topic as a weakness on both of them, but as cruel as Morathi was she was not narrow-minded. She did expect a baby to be strong the moment it is born from a mother's womb. Morathi faintly remembered the little babe that used to be his son thousands of years ago to be so small and fragile. Yet, he had grown into a ferocious warrior of the likes that stand among the most powerful in the world. His name, once only spoken from Morathi's lips with motherly affection, now put the hearts in all manner of creature. And all that terror and power all originated from a small form that she once held in her arms. It is interesting how the world works.

"Not admitting your weaknesses (at least from yourself) will only stagnate your growth into the warrior and leader the Druchii will stand in awe of." Malekith assured Allisara, who was looking up at the Witch-King with an unsure expression. "Go on. Tell me what distracts you. There is no need to fear me on this."

"... The future." Allisara relented, her hidden thoughts coming out like a flood. "The future of our people. This task will change everything for us. The success of this mission can put us where the Druchii truly should be: at the top of the world. For too long, we've been shunned from our right of superiority by those _fakers _in Ulthuan. They have stolen what should belong to us, not them, and they have sent us into this cold hell to suffer!

"If we can't take back our birthright, then we will ascend higher than the Asur can ever imagine. That's what I see in this mission. What is an island of our homeland compared to whole worlds to ourselves. And I... am afraid that if I fail, then I fail the rise of the Druchii to greatness from this cold hell we've been exiled too. I want the Druchii, our people, to become greatest of all creation."

"So you feel doubt." Malekith stated. "That is one of most devastating that can happen to a leader Allisara. Doubt makes them slower and their actions less thought out. The only way to rid of it is to focus on the reward through this trial. To see the conclusion of your task to the very end."

Allisara casted her gaze downward, but her attention drifted from the real world and to her own inner thoughts. She pondered on her father's words, soon seeing the powerful wisdom in them. The goal at the end of this journey was to be the greatest reward not only for her or her father, but the Druchii as a whole. There was no hesitance to go forward for the ending goal so daunting and ambitious. A small thing as doubt was by no means significant to stop her.

"I see." Allisara muttered, raising her eyes back to the Witch King. "I can't fail. Failure... no, there will be no failure, only success. That I swear on the blood of Aenarion that runs through me."

"And my own." Quipped Morathi under her breath.

A horn sounded from the Black Ark to signal the last few moments before departure. That also meant Morathi's servants have installed the shrine upon the floating city for dimensional transportation, so she herself has to make haste for proper preparation. She quickly walked back down the dock, the butt end of her halberd/staff thudding the stone ground all the way.

Malekith and Allisara exchanged a look that spoke of a whole conversation between them, ending the moment the Witch Princess nodded her head. At first, Allisara went down the dock at a quick, professional pace only for her steps to falter in hesitance. The son of Aenarion narrowed his eyes, but he wasn't given the chance to speak. Allisara had turned back to him, her eyes going back and forth from him to down the dock to the Black Ark. Her decision was made in that instant as she disappeared in a black blur back at Malekith.

The Witch King felt weight pressing forward on his torso with a pair of limbs tightening around his sides and back. His first instinct was to cut down whatever ambushed him, but closer inspection of his senses told that the hold was not life-threatening. Only when he looked down to find the source did words fail to leave the lips of his mask. The source of the 'pressure' was his own daughter wrapping her arms around Malekith in what he vaguely recalled as a hug, and her head was nestled in his chest.

There was none of the sadism or the cruelty from the Witch Princess. All that Malekith could see from her eyes, leaking tears, was undivided affection that she has been holding back for so long. Never had Allisara been bold enough to show this kind of love to her father as intimate as a hug, but she needed to do this because there is a chance she may not see Malekith for a long time. For so long, Allisara wanted to hug her father to truly show him how much she appreciated being raised by him, and despite his exterior being colder than ice it was still the best thing Allisara could ask.

Malekith's head was drawing a blank. It was a very rare thing that a Druchii showed actual affection, but Malekith never did expect this from Allisara. By all rights, she should internally loathe him for both the power he held and the lashings on her back. Yet, he never took in the fact whenever he trained her because Malekith never saw the gleeful smile on Allisara's face, no matter how much he beat her to a pulp. Those times where Malekith and her trained together or study magic and war did they bond as father and daughter.

As the hug continued, he vaguely recalled a memory from his forgotten youth as a boy. He himself had given a hug when his father Aenarion returned. For being the greatest warrior in the world's history, that did not mean Aenarion was heartless to deny the affection of his family. His right hand moved on autopilot and rested behind Allisara's right shoulder, barely returning the gesture.

"I promise to make you proud, Dad." Allisara muttered loud enough for Malekith to hear.

Reluctantly, Allisara broke from the hug and sprinted down the dock to board the Black Ark. The entire time Malekith eyes never left the back of Allisara slowly becoming smaller as she boarded the ship. The human - no, _his _daughter that he raised from that small babe into a mighty warrior worthy of royalty. A dull pain thrummed in his chest at the thought that Allisara will be a world apart on a quest to bring glory to the Druchii greater than the Asur at their peak. Deep in his heart where locked was the persona that is the son of Aenarion, he didn't want his daughter to be so far away that she could be hurt when she will need him the most.

_'You've already made me proud, Allisara.' _Malekith thought.

* * *

(Back to the present.)

"Hnn..." An indignant whine muffled behind Allisara's lips and blushed cheeks.

She quickly shook herself of thoughts of the past and focused on the ever important present, and that is preparing a magic circle instructed from Morathi. According to her grandmother, the Winds of Magic in this new alternate world were more calmer. Therefore, normal magical casting takes an increase of effort than what would normally be used back home. However, that left more of a rule over the energies in the new world since there were no godly entities or rather just a lack of their presence to command the Winds of Magic. The lack of intense Winds of Magic negated any threat of Chaos.

Morathi came up with a ritual to put this lack of maintenance to their advantage. The main component was creating a vacuum to concentrate the Winds of Magic much like the Vortex in Ulthuan. The difference is that this drain is put under Allisara's own will, putting the bulk of the world's magic at her very fingertips. It could not be anyone else because Allisara's unique affiliation of Chaos magic, the most pure form to be exact. Other beings could not handle the strain of maintaining the Winds of Magic in their total diversity from Beast to Heaven without ripping themselves apart.

She had carved the copy of the pattern on her back that marked her as the "controller" of the Winds of Magic. The main circle itself was a pattern of daemon sigils and Druchii calligraphy drawn in her own blood upon the roof of her personal manor that was first built when they made ashore. Several stars were pointed out at the edges marked with crystal charged with a specific element of magic to properly siphon all Lores at once, and all of it concentrated to the center littered with daemonic sigils that on sight alone was enough for human to kill each other for heresy.

_'Humans are so dumb.' _Allisara thought, remembering multiple reports of humans purging their own people for heresy on asinine claims. The other races at home knew too well those mortals were their own worse enemy.

The final line was drawn and the last of the crystals, the Lore of Beasts, was placed down carefully. Now the final 'ingredient' was a pulse to magic in its purest form to jump start ritual. Back home, a ritual of this significance would have called for a sacrifice or some other deal with the gods, but it was much easier when there are no deities to interfere in the first place.

Allisara raised her left arm above the daemon circle. Her reptilian eye glowed a menacing crimson as she drew upon the Winds of Chaos, the rawest form of magic. None of her charge dared to get close to the Witch Princess' manor feeling the absolute wrongness that activated every carnal instinct within them to preserve their lives. The sky above the growing pseudo-settlement turned dark as black clouds crackling in all manner of magic were attracted to the ongoing ritual.

Words of forbidden knowledge came out in wraith-like whispers from Allisara's mouth, and the more she spoke the more the carving at her feet glowed in a mix of purple and red. The crystals at the edges sent up a stream of multiple colors collecting into a swirling cone reaching for the miniature storm above. Red specks of light and lightning traveled up and down her right arm to create a sphere of pure Chaos magic in her palm. Subtle mutations of scales and protrusions from her arms started to spread on the limb, looking more demonic by the second.

At the epicenter of the ritual where ground and sky were about to meet, the Marks of Khain and Khorne that were etched onto her skin and soul glowed in sinister light. She felt the stare of the gods bear down on her, and in the back of her head she could hear their whispers.

_'Yes, my champion, brings us to the new fold so we may watch your conquest.'_

**_'Connect the bridge and this world will be yours.'_**

_'It shall be done!' _Exclaimed Allisara internally, her eyes producing a flash of light.

With a primal roar, Allisara slammed down her left arm upon the circle and the red bolt split the sky in two. The Druchii braced themselves as all of the world's magic suffused and was unleashed simultaneously into a massive wave. Soon, the calm of the storm followed and at the center stood Allisara enraptured in ecstasy. A pure black shimmer surrounded her body until it faded away from visible sight. As she came down from her high, Allisara took the moment to feel the energy of the world's once slumbering magic. It felt like as though she were in a vast sea and a simple flick of her finger could redirect it however she wanted. However, at best these Winds of Magic were too calm to have the destructive potential Allisara desired in leveling a city down, but it was enough to return a the major player of magic back in her forces.

There was also the matter of the unique affect the dormant magic had on everyone. It first started with herself and Seras when they found themselves unable to be injured by a personal warding that protected and healed them. As more of these natural 'wards' starting turning up among her elite, Allisara had made a theory that the unique magic despite being dormant had the effect of bringing up the raw soul of a person into a tangible shield, and it also provided an increase in strength and speed.

Of course, manipulation of one's soul wasn't unheard of in terms of extracting or weaponizing them into magical war machines. Never was there a way that one's own soul can work for the individual's benefit. Such a boon can make the Druchii military the most dominant in the world without the need of armor.

She can see it now. A whole army of super-soldiers at her beck and call. Whole civilizations that have withstood for thousands of years brought to the heel of the Dark Elves. The Druchii people ascended back into their former glory before the split, and finally the absolute praise of her father for making it possible.

Oh yeah, tonight her and Seras were going to get rough in the sack! Maybe get Cissovi and the Witch Elves to join in.

Allisara shook her head. No, she can't be too hasty with these advancements. She needed to know first of all how it was possible to manifest the power of the soul back home. A month ago, Allisara had sent out Khainite spies to scour nearby settlements or cities of the world's natives. It came to a surprise really that most of the world was untamed wilderness rich in fauna for hunting, at least for her Cold One riders. If worse comes and they somehow get captured, Allisara had a kill switch to remotely burn their bodies to ash to remove any evidence of themselves.

Finally, there was one problem that was proving difficult in expanding a proper foothold in the settlement. There were these hordes of what seemed to be fauna mutated somehow to into monstrous versions of pitch black skin, bone plates, and red eyes full of hate. Since arriving and docking the Black Ark, these creatures have been relentless in trying to kill them off, and it was only Allisara's sorcerers setting down a magical barrier that they haven't instantly failed. That, and they used a hundred of their slaves as bait to draw them away. Hopefully when her spies return they can report the knowledge have of these creatures.

Allisara looked over at the setting sun as it casted a golden glow over the endless green landscape that she was greeted. It was honestly the first time she had actually seen a forest in real life, and she would be lying if she said that she wasn't baffled. The warm climate was absolutely bliss to her, like the gentle kiss of a flame on her pale skin that for too long endured the cold. Even her own forces had raised morale because of the change of weather.

The Witch Princess found herself staring at the sun shining in the sky lacking any sort of clouds to hide it away while its light shimmered over green ground and blue water. For some odd reason, it brought a distinct nostalgia Allisara couldn't place. It felt like the rise of joy one would feel returning home, but in this world it was more profound. That didn't make sense; her home was in Naggarond and this was an entirely different dimension. Perhaps it was the warm weather that called to the long dormant side of her that was the elf from Ulthuan and it was soothing her mood. Her doubt did not leave though.

Just what was it with this place? Why did she feel so at natural here in this alien world? It was like a jumble of whispers in the back that felt both foreign and familiar. She forced them all to a dark corner of her mind to silence them.

Dusk will follow night soon. Perhaps it is time that she retired for the night now that the ritual is over. A lecherous smile crossed her face as an idea came to mind. Now that she had direct control of the Winds of Magic, she can apply them to her spell casters to bring them back to the prime of their abilities. She was going to have them all gather in her manor, and what better way than a whole night of passion to bring them all together?

Sometimes she loved her life, and never desired to trade for it. Besides, what other life could she ever want to live in?

* * *

(Meanwhile at Beacon...)

"Rylee Megan, Weiss Schnee, Blake Belladona, and Yang Xiao Long," A man on a raised platform announced, wearing a green suit with a heat of white hair. He was holding a cup of coffee in his right hand and in his left held onto an intricately decorated cane. "You have retrieved the yellow horse pieces. Thus, you shall be christened Team RWBY, led by Yang Xiao Long."

The whole theater full of students went into applause at the newly minted Team RWBY that shall be starting their first year at Beacon Academy to become Huntresses. It was a team consisting of four young women that had done an outstanding performance in initiation taking down a giant Nevermore. The first woman was Rylee, a native from the deserts of Vacuo who wore brown cargo pants, tanned boots, and a belt holding a long sword, twin pistols, and pouches for ammo. On her back was a rifle that mecha-shifted into a lance when necessary. She was fairly tall at 5'6" with tanned skin that almost made her chocolate brown dotted with freckles, auburn hair tied in a ponytail, and violet eyes.

The second girl was Weiss Schnee, the heiress of the Schnee Dust Company from Atlas. She was a girl standing at 5'1" with the trademark looks of the Schnee family with her white hair and blue eyes. She wore a white skirt where at her waist rested her rapier. A scar bore down her left eye.

The third girl had amber eyes and long black hair sweeping down her back. She wore a form-fitting white corset and black garments that gave her an air of stealth. On her head was a bow that slightly twitched occasionally.

The final member was a buxom standing the tallest at 5'8" with sweeping yellow hair reaching just passed her shoulders. She wore the most battle-ready outfit of the group, starting with an armored mesh that covered her torso under a jacket with twin tails. There were plates of armor fitted on her kneecaps, elbows, and shoulders to provide the most protection to her vital weak points while also giving her the best movement. Her eyes were a startling lavender that occasionally shifted red, but her beauty was marred by a criss-cross of deep scars on the left side of her piece between her jaw and eye.

Unlike her teammates that were soaking up the praise, Yang was stuck in her own world. When she heard the name of their team, it brought up memories that were too painful. The last time she heard that name was so long ago when that _thing _took her baby sister away and killed her mother. Just the thought alone made her eyes bleed red and her reach a hand up to the scars that monster left on her that night.

Ever since that day, Yang's family had been torn apart. Her father, Taiyang, had been prone to drinking in his despair from the death of his second wife with only the bare hope that Ruby was alive when she was taken. Yang never slept peacefully in her house without feeling some sort of heavy despair that the metal man left. At some point, Yang had resolved to find her mother's killer, and ever since then had trained endlessly and pushed herself to the utter limit. She never bothered with any pleasantries, only focusing on this single desire to get revenge for what that monster had done to her family. Qrow, Yang's uncle, had tried keeping the peace in the family, but he was trying to keep himself from breaking apart.

She closed her eyes to try and calm herself so as to stop herself from snapping in public, but every time she closed her eyes Yang would see that monster's face with those cold soulless eyes bearing down on her as if she were an insect. She remembered the hellish pain racking her face from when the monster kicked her. Every time Yang would see the body of Summer lying in a pool of blood while Ruby, her own sister, was crying in that monster's arms. And every time she was useless to stop him from walking away, the baby's cries growing ever so distant.

When Yang reopened her eyes back to the real world, they were a permanent red. Wherever her gaze went, it would make the person in her sights quiver in fear. Her fists tightened at her sides, threatening to make her palms bleed.

_'One day, I will find you.' _Yang promised. _'And when I do, I am going to tear you apart, and I will take back my sister.'_

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**So finally I have posted another lovely chapter. Don't got much to say really. Yang will not meet Allisara anytime soon, but they will be terrorizing the kingdoms. Remember, blood for the Blood God. Skulls for the Skull Throne.**

**Up next is Chapter 6.**

**Stay in touch. Please, _please _leave a review.**


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